“What are you huffing and puffing about?” Jane calls from the living room.
I can’t help but laugh at her comment. It comes out of nowhere, with that perfect timing and delivery Jane just nails from time to time. And all the funnier because she doesn’t even know she’s doing it.
“What?” she says, sticking her head into the doorway.
“I can’t believe you heard me,” I reply.
“You were about to blow the house down. What’s wrong?” Her gaze flits to the phone in my hand. “Is tonightthenight?”
“I’m thinking about it,” I murmur. “It’s silly. He probably won’t even answer. He probably forgot he gave me his number the second he did it. He’s probably going to be angry I called. He didn’t mean to give me his personal number. He probably wanted to give me his professional one, but they got mixed up.”
“Lucy.”Jane leans down, catching my eye line. “I think you need to call him, just so you know where you stand. You’re driving yourself insane. Don’t think I haven’t heard you stomping around the last three nights.”
I smile, so thankful I’ve got a friend like Jane, one who will always go the extra mile.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so restless.” It takes me a moment to find the word. “I want to get better.”
“Youaregetting better,” Jane says. “Remember when we first moved here? All you did was lie in bed, staring at the ceiling.”
“I know. I guess I wasn’t the best at handling grief. I blame Mom.”
Jane frowns, and right away, I regret the dark joke.
She knows what I mean without saying it. If Mom had died later and not when I was born, I’d be used to grief by now.
“I didn’t mean that,” I say quickly.
“I know you didn’t,” Jane says. “What are you going to do?”
I look down at the phone, take a long breath, and let it out again.
“I’m going to do it. Call him.”
It takes a lot of effort toactuallydo it, though.
I hold my thumb there for a long time, going through all the horrible possibilities, and then Jane waves her hands.
“Oh my God, I’m dying from the tension!”
“Me too,” I say, clickingcall.
I hold the phone to my ear. The ringing stops. There’s a pause.
“Hello?” a woman says.
I gasp when I recognize her voice.
“What?” A woman hisses.
Putting the phone on speaker, I hold it out, even as tears try to flood into my eyes. I want to hang up, forget this even happened.
Ofcourse, he’s with a woman. He always is.
And not just any woman.
“Hello?” she says again.
Lucy gasps. “Is that Maxine Waterson?”