Page 36 of First-Time Caller
Coffee over ice. Thunder in the distance.
“—and maybe that’s the answer, really. That there is no answer. I don’t know if any of us have any idea what we’re doing. But we’re trying, yeah? We can all be trying together. I like knowing that I’ve got you on the other end of this thing, listening to me. While I’m here, listening to you.”He pauses, an exhale that rattles out from the speaker and settles like smoke in Grayson’s living room.“We had a visitor at the station tonight. I’m not allowed to talk about who that was yet, but I think you’ll be interested in hearing from her. I know I am.”I smile against the inside of my arm. Aiden pauses again, longer this time. I sink into the couch and think of him alone at his desk. Shadows and filtered light from his audio controls. His smile right before the door shut.“I hope you’ll stick with us, Baltimore. I can’t wait to see what happens next.”
AIDEN VALENTINE:Good night, Baltimore.
She’s doing it?”
I adjust my footing and move my chair into place. It skids backward two inches and I overcorrect, banging into the wall. “She’s doing it.”
Jackson shifts at the other end of the hallway. He’s holding a broomstick as his weapon of choice. I’m armed with the matching dustpan.
“She agreed?” he asks again, tongue stuck between his teeth as he calculates his chances of getting the tennis ball past me and in the trash-can goal. I’m currently undefeated at hallway hockey / soccer / whatever the hell we’re doing. Only half of that is a result of my skill. The other half is Jackson’s complete lack of hand-eye coordination.
“She agreed,” I say, exasperated. This is the twenty-fifth time we’ve been over this. “She should be here any minute, actually.”
Jackson drops the tennis ball on the floor and traps it with the broom. “Do you have a show plan?”
“I always have a show plan.”
“Do you have a show plan that accounts for Lucie?”
I sigh and straighten from my hunched-over position, the dustpan in my lap. “Are you attempting to distract me or are these legitimate questions?”
Jackson rockets the tennis ball down the hallway. It hits the back of the trash can with a dull thud. He tosses his arms in the air and does one slow, wobbly, celebratory spin.
I toss the dustpan at his chair and abandon mine.
“Don’t be a sore loser!” Jackson calls after me. The wheels squeak on his chair as he pushes himself along, trying to catch up. He’s doing a shit job of it, laughing too much to get any momentum. “I was testing a theory.”
I have no interest in hearing what that theory might be. I turn down a hallway, cut through the break room, and make for the studio. I need a door that locks and a soundproof window between me and the rest of the world.
But my booth isn’t empty, and there’s someone sitting in my chair.
Lucie is waiting, toying with the snow globe my dad got me almost five Christmases ago when my mom was unexpectedly admitted to the hospital. He didn’t want us to spend the holiday without gifts, so he went down to the tiny shop in the Hopkins lobby and bought whatever he could find in the discount gift shop. We toasted with ice water in paper cups and laughed at my father’s horrendous wrapping. It’s a good memory, despite the setting. One of my favorites.
I haven’t thought of it in years.
Lucie turns the snow globe over and over in her hands, shaking up the tiny white flakes, watching them land on the miniature Baltimore skyline. Her face is relaxed, eyes soft, a smile curling at the edge of her pale pink lips.
I pull the door shut behind me. “Making yourself comfortable?”
She startles and turns quickly, her long hair slipping over her shoulders. “I didn’t—” She sets the snow globe back on the corner of my desk. “I wasn’t—” She stands and tucks her hair behind her ears, fingertips rubbing at the row of dainty earrings along her lobe. A gesture I’ve seen her do twice now. “I let myself in. I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” I tell her. I keep my back pressed to the door, my hands loose at my sides. I’ve never noticed how small this room is before. “This is your booth now too. According to Maggie.”
She gives me a tight smile. “Only for a few evenings a week. For a limited run.”
I nod. “Or until you get sick of me. Whichever comes first.”
She keeps staring at me.
“That was a joke,” I offer. I can’t read her at all.
“It was very funny.”
“That must be why you’re laughing so hard.” I push off the door.
Her eyes follow me. The barest hint of a smile twitches at her mouth. She fights it though. And it somehow makes me like her even more.
