I pause the footage on what may be the clearest visual we can get of the person, but it’s grainy. They’re wearing jeans and a black hoodie with the hood pulled tight so that their hair isn’t visible.
There’s no way we would be able to recognize whoever this is if we saw them in person. It isn’t a clear enough picture, and they never looked straight at the camera. The police wouldn’t even find this footage useful.
I send the file to my email anyway. Right when I hit send, a phone pings. I glance at mine, but it’s Brad who received a text.
“Darin says Bib’s is fine.” He pockets his phone and heads toward my office door. “I’ll start cleaning up.”
I wait for the file to finish sending to my email, then I start the footage over again, feeling more pity than irritation. It just reminds me of the cold nights I spent in that abandoned house before Lily offered me the shelter of her bedroom. I can practically feel the chill in my bones just thinking about it.
I have no idea who this could be. It’s unnerving that they wrote my name on the door, and even more unnerving that they felt comfortable enough to hang out and take a two-hour nap. It’s like they’re daring me to confront them.
My phone begins to vibrate on my desk. I reach for it, but it’s a number I don’t recognize. I normally don’t answer those, but Lily is still in the back of my mind. She could be calling me from a work phone.
God, I sound pathetic.
I raise the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
There’s a sigh on the other end. A female. She sounds relieved that I answered. “Atlas?”
I sigh, too, but not from relief. I sigh because it isn’t Lily’s voice. I’m not sure whose it is, but anyone other than Lily is disappointing, apparently.
I lean back in my office chair. “Can I help you?”
“It’s me.”
I have no idea who “me” is. I think back to any exes that could be calling me, but none of them sound like this person. And none of them would assume I would know who they were if they simply said,It’s me.
“Who’s speaking?”
“Me,” she says again, emphasizing it like it’ll make a difference. “Sutton. Yourmother.”
I immediately pull the phone away from my ear and look at the number again. This has to be some kind of prank. How would my mother get my phone number? Why would shewantit? It’s been years since she made it clear she never wanted to see me again.
I say nothing.I have nothing to say.I stretch my spine and lean forward, waiting for her to spit out the reason she finally put forth the effort to contact me.
“I… um.” She pauses. I can hear a television on in the background. It sounds likeThe Price Is Right. I can almost picture her sitting on the couch, a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other at ten in the morning. She mostly worked nights when I was growing up, so she’d eat dinner and then stay up to watchThe Price Is Rightbefore going to sleep.
It was my least-favorite time of day.
“What do you want?” My voice is clipped.
She makes a noise in the back of her throat, and even though it’s been years, I can tell she’s annoyed. I can tell in that one release of breath that she didn’twantto call me. She’s doing it because shehasto. She’s not reaching out to apologize; she’s reaching out because she’s desperate.
“Are you dying?” I ask. It’s the only thing that would prevent me from ending this call.
“Am Idying?” She repeats my question with laughter as if I’m absurd and unreasonable and anass… whole. “No, I’m notdying. I’m perfectly fine.”
“Do you need money?”
“Who doesn’t?”
Every ounce of anxiety she used to fill me with returns in just these few seconds on the phone with her. I immediately end the call. I have nothing to say to her. I block her number, regretful that I gave her as long as I did to speak. I should have ended the call as soon as she told me who she was.
I lean forward over my desk and cradle my head in my hands. My stomach is churning from the unexpectedness of the last couple of minutes.
I’m surprised by my reaction, honestly. I thought this might happen one day, but I imagined myself not caring. I assumed I’d feel as indifferent toward her returning to my life as I did when she forced me to leave hers. But back then, I was indifferent to a lot of things.
Now I actuallylikemy life. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished. I have absolutely no desire to allow anyone from my past to come in and threaten that.