Page 6 of First-Time Caller
“Who—” I lick my dry lips and try to clear the rasp out of my voice. I want to sound powerful. I want to sound terrifying. “Who the hell is this?”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. I hear a muffled sound. A cough, maybe. Or a laugh.
All my fear crumples into a tiny ball until I am rage personified.
“Did I say something funny?”
“I’m sure you’ll understand my amusement in a second,” the stranger on the other end of the line says. He doesn’t sound surprised enough that the girl he was talking to is suddenly a fire-breathing woman. “Hello. My name is Aiden.”
“Okay, Aiden.” I look at my daughter sitting with her legs tucked beneath her at the very edge of the bed, a blanket with mermaids printed all over it wrapped around her shoulders. I blink and she’s four years old, hair in uneven pigtails and bare feet dangling above the floor. I blink again and she’s a preteen, staring at me with watchful eyes. “Why are you talking to my kid at ten forty-two at night?”
Another pause. “Would you believe that she called me?”
“I don’t care if she called you.” Some of my control slips. “I don’t care if she is secretly Jack Reacher and this is a hostage situation. She is twelve years old.”
Maya claps her hands over her eyes and falls back onto the bed with a huff.
“I don’t like what you’re insinuating,” he says.
“Well, I don’t like what you’re doing.”
“Now, hold on a second. If I could just explain—”
“Do you make a habit of having late-night phone calls with underage girls?”
“I don’t make a habit ofanythingwith underage girls,” he sputters.
I am deeply pleased by the break in his voice. Aiden is no longer amused.Good.
“I’m not—” He huffs, puffs, and makes a bunch of other frustrated sounds. “I think we should start over.”
“No, thank you. I’ve indulged in enough of this conversation. I’m hanging up now.”
“Wait a second.”
“For what?”
“For an explanation.”
“I’m sure you have an excellent one, but I’m not interested.”
He makes another rumbling sound on the other end of the line. “Ask Maya, then.”
“What?”
“Since you’re unlikely to believe anything I tell you, ask Maya why she’s on the phone with me at ten forty-two at night.”
His voice is low. Rough. Like the storms that come in quick over the harbor and sit there, thunder rumbling, one rolling into another until the sky vibrates in your bones. Or maybe that’s my rage. I don’t know. I narrow my eyes and tilt the phone away from my mouth, covering the microphone with the palm of my hand.
“Did you join a cult?” I ask Maya. He sounds like he’s part of a cult. Or at the very least in charge of a multilevel marketing scheme.
She shakes her head silently.
“Is this a cry for help?”
A smile twitches against her lips and she has the good sense to beat it into submission. “Not for me,” she mumbles.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
