Answering The Call by Parris Afton Bonds

Author:Parris Afton Bonds [Afton Bonds, Parris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Motina Books
Published: 2023-05-22T16:00:00+00:00

“He doesn’t want me—or our baby!”

At the shrilly screamed words, Lauren winced and tilted her cell phone away from her ear. “Andi, it’s going to be all right. You knew this was a possibility. Have Tony bring you on back to the house. We’ll figure out our next—”

A tear-choked, “Nooo.” A hiccough. Then more soberly, “Listen, Ms. L, I am going to eat myself beyond silly right now. I’ve bullied Tony into hauling my bloated body to the nearest taquería.”

The phone went dead. Lauren sighed. Food, Andi’s solution to every crisis. But then the girl needed to be eating for two.

Which reminded Lauren it was late afternoon and she had not eaten since David scrounged leftovers for dinner yesterday, before he flew out on his business trip.

She scavenged through the family fridge and found among its meager stock an opened cellophane package containing two quesadillas. Standing at the counter she had polished to a Medici gleam, she did her own pigging out, while fretting what Renita’s next possible move might be.

No closer to an answer, Lauren finally went back to her cleaning, for which that morning she had redonned her standby peasant blouse, jeans, and tennis shoes. As both Andi and she had brought no change of clothing, it was going to be a long ten days holed up in this wretched neighborhood.

Recollecting her dash with David to the U.S. border and now her stranded stay at his casa, it would seem when with him her wardrobe, already ruthlessly reduced before her move, presently consisted of little more than Eve’s fig leaf.

His bedroom required her Merry Maid’s cleaning services next. She had already located a set of wash-worn sheets in his closet, the size of one of those antiquated telephone booths. After she changed the bed she and Andi had slept on the night before, she put her hands on her hips and shook her head with a sigh. Andi was the first person with whom she had shared a bed in years. A sad commentary.

With a dust rag, she attacked the single window’s crumpled venetian slats, then shifted her attention to swathing the dust from the laminated tops of the dresser drawers and nightstand. Next she set to sweeping the room, but beneath the double bed her broom hooked on something. Kneeling, she fished out the object. A guitar.

Sweet Jesus, it was a Strat Sunburst Fender. She reckoned the high quality acoustic guitar had to be worth close to the neighborhood of a grand. Gingerly, as if it were a Stradivarius Viola, she went to cradle it. Out of the sound hole fluttered something. A photo.

She scooped it up. It looked to have been snapped at a small venue, considering the closely crammed, tiny tables, each occupied by groupies of a long ago era, with more patrons standing behind.

A very young and very sexy David was on the stage, the guitar strap slung from his neck. He was leaning around a microphone stand toward a female fan below, his long hair freeze-framed in one swishing motion.

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