just call her. Not without thinking of a way to introduce myself. I tried a few different phrases in my mind, but I could not dismiss my overriding emotion of burning disbelief. Things like this didn’t happen to people like me. I put a hand on my hot chest where the embarrassment burned under my ribs. It’s a horrible realization to find you’ve been left out of your own life.
Cleo returned and tossed me a scrawny looking orange. “Lucky day - one left.” She nibbled on a piece of bread with a slice of Swiss cheese, her favorite snack, and reminded me that we had barely started Hanshaw’s assignment. “I could work on it while you think… or call…” she prodded.
“I can’t tonight . It’s almost ten o’clock there. And if it’s her I have nothing to say.”
“Nothing to say?” she asked incredulously. “I think you have sixteen years’ worth of things to say. She might not even know you exist. I think that is something she wouldn’t mind getting a late night phone call for.” Cleo’s rationale seeped into me. She made it seem logical to pick up the phone and have a pleasant conversation. No worries.
I shook my head, letting my hesitation settle back into place like a weight in the back of my skull. “Not enough privacy here. The boys will interrupt.” Stephen devoted himself to me several years ago, which means he often trails us around the house.
“I swear on my life they won’t.” Cleo promised, “I will go downstairs for as long as you want and bar any and all interruptions!” Then her voice quieted, “After you say hello. I just have to hear you say hello and then I will leave.” She saw my resolve weakening in the silence and added one last thought. “It will probably be the best phone call she’s ever gotten.”
I looked at Cleo, but it was Sarah’s face I saw. I knew I was going to do it. At some point. At some time. Why not get it over with? Without warning my eyes pricked with tears. Hopeful tears. If I waited one extra second I could never do it. I reached out my hand, “Give me the phone.”
“Really?” she asked breathlessly.
I shook my hand meaningfully at her, afraid if I spoke again it would shatter my fragile courage. Cleo didn’t waste the opportunity. She snatched her silver cell phone off the desk and pushed it into my palm, a lead weight in my hand. Then she opened the laptop, jerking the mouse to wake the blank screen. A tiny hum, followed by a metallic melody, and Sarah’s number appeared, looking impatient. Where did you go?, it seemed to ask petulantly. For a moment I debated making Cleo dial, but the phone felt fused to my fingers. I flipped it open and stared at it, a shot of electricity running from my fingers to the bottom of my spine.
Ten numbers. Next year I would be in advanced trig. I’d mastered a graphing calculator. I could hit ten numbers. I watched my finger press the first button, heard the unassuming chime, saw the number blink from the green screen. Like a timer. Running out of time. My breaths filled the room, blocking every noise but the tinny sound of the key tone. I never heard Cleo’s steps, but I felt her hovering in front of me. My finger kept dialing, each number intensifying the shock running through my body.
One left. I tore my eyes from the phone and looked at Cleo. Her face reflected everything I felt - apprehension, tension, doubt - only her eyes shimmered with the added gleam of excitement. It was much easier to watch than do. I hit the last number.
Silence. Nothing. Until I realized I forgot to hit TALK. Before I could consider the consequences I pressed the green button and fought my sudden compulsion to throw the phone. I panicked and looked to Cleo again, wondering how I came to be holding the phone with the faint sound of a ring coming through the earpiece in my hand.
Cleo held her breath, her eyes growing impossibly bigger with strain. She signaled something with her hand when she heard the soft second ring. She
Cleo returned and tossed me a scrawny looking orange. “Lucky day - one left.” She nibbled on a piece of bread with a slice of Swiss cheese, her favorite snack, and reminded me that we had barely started Hanshaw’s assignment. “I could work on it while you think… or call…” she prodded.
“I can’t tonight . It’s almost ten o’clock there. And if it’s her I have nothing to say.”
“Nothing to say?” she asked incredulously. “I think you have sixteen years’ worth of things to say. She might not even know you exist. I think that is something she wouldn’t mind getting a late night phone call for.” Cleo’s rationale seeped into me. She made it seem logical to pick up the phone and have a pleasant conversation. No worries.
I shook my head, letting my hesitation settle back into place like a weight in the back of my skull. “Not enough privacy here. The boys will interrupt.” Stephen devoted himself to me several years ago, which means he often trails us around the house.
“I swear on my life they won’t.” Cleo promised, “I will go downstairs for as long as you want and bar any and all interruptions!” Then her voice quieted, “After you say hello. I just have to hear you say hello and then I will leave.” She saw my resolve weakening in the silence and added one last thought. “It will probably be the best phone call she’s ever gotten.”
I looked at Cleo, but it was Sarah’s face I saw. I knew I was going to do it. At some point. At some time. Why not get it over with? Without warning my eyes pricked with tears. Hopeful tears. If I waited one extra second I could never do it. I reached out my hand, “Give me the phone.”
“Really?” she asked breathlessly.
I shook my hand meaningfully at her, afraid if I spoke again it would shatter my fragile courage. Cleo didn’t waste the opportunity. She snatched her silver cell phone off the desk and pushed it into my palm, a lead weight in my hand. Then she opened the laptop, jerking the mouse to wake the blank screen. A tiny hum, followed by a metallic melody, and Sarah’s number appeared, looking impatient. Where did you go?, it seemed to ask petulantly. For a moment I debated making Cleo dial, but the phone felt fused to my fingers. I flipped it open and stared at it, a shot of electricity running from my fingers to the bottom of my spine.
Ten numbers. Next year I would be in advanced trig. I’d mastered a graphing calculator. I could hit ten numbers. I watched my finger press the first button, heard the unassuming chime, saw the number blink from the green screen. Like a timer. Running out of time. My breaths filled the room, blocking every noise but the tinny sound of the key tone. I never heard Cleo’s steps, but I felt her hovering in front of me. My finger kept dialing, each number intensifying the shock running through my body.
One left. I tore my eyes from the phone and looked at Cleo. Her face reflected everything I felt - apprehension, tension, doubt - only her eyes shimmered with the added gleam of excitement. It was much easier to watch than do. I hit the last number.
Silence. Nothing. Until I realized I forgot to hit TALK. Before I could consider the consequences I pressed the green button and fought my sudden compulsion to throw the phone. I panicked and looked to Cleo again, wondering how I came to be holding the phone with the faint sound of a ring coming through the earpiece in my hand.
Cleo held her breath, her eyes growing impossibly bigger with strain. She signaled something with her hand when she heard the soft second ring. She
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