“Mom,” I reply. “I’m here.”
“I know you’re there, son. Good God, do you think I’m an idiot?”
That’s something no one could ever call my mother. “No, ma’am,” I reply. “I just didn’t expect the call.”
“I’ve been leaving messages all week.”
“I was going to call you back.”
She makes a rude noise into the phone, one that she would have slapped me for if I’d made it in her presence. “Sure, you were.” I hear a rustling on the other end. “Here,” she says, and it sounds like she’s a few feet away from the phone. “He’s there. Say hello,” she prompts.
“Dad?” Mitchell says, his voice quiet.
“Hey,” I reply. My voice cracks, and I have to stop and clear my throat. “How’s it going?”
“Umm, okay, I guess. Nana said I could call.”
“I’m glad you did.” I sit up and cross my legs, my heart racing in my chest. “Did you have a good day?”
He holds the phone away from his mouth and asks my mother, “Did I have a good day?”
I hear her throaty chuckle. “You did. Tell him about going to the zoo with your other grandparents last weekend.”
I freeze. He went somewhere with them? When did she start letting him go with them? And why didn’t she tell me?
He begins a conversation, tells me all about the bears, the lions, the penguins, and the chocolate-covered ants he ate in the snack bar. Apparently, it was insect week at the zoo.
“Your grandmother let
you eat ants?” I ask. I can’t imagine Imogene and Derrick letting him breathe without one hand guiding how he does it, much less allowing him to eat ants.
“I had two. There was a limit.” He yawns into the phone.
“I’m really glad you called,” I say, as my heart starts to slow down to a normal rate.
“You are?” he asks, and the fact that he has to ask makes me hurt deep inside.
“You can call me anytime,” I tell him. I pay for a phone when I don’t even have a house, just so my mother can get ahold of me in case of an emergency.
“You mean that?”
“Anytime,” I repeat, and I mean it in the depths of my soul.
“Will you come and see me soon?”
“Well, I’d like to,” I say. “But—” I’m about to make an excuse about why I can’t, but he cuts me off.
“When do you want to come?”
“Umm…”
My mother’s voice rings out as she takes the phone from him. “Don’t make a promise if you’re not going to keep it,” she warns me. Then she hands the phone back to Mitchell.
“I have a baseball game next weekend. You could come and watch.” His voice is tiny and hopeful.
“I don’t know if I can do that, Mitchell,” I say. I squeeze my eyes shut. I want desperately to see him, but I’m not ready. He’s not ready. Nobody is ready. And the people in the small town where I know he’ll be playing ball are not ready to see me. They’d probably as soon spit on me as look at me.
“Why not?” he asks.