Wanted by A. M. Wilson

Author:A. M. Wilson [Wilson, A. M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-05-13T00:00:00+00:00

15

Frankie

I never imagined a cell phone could be so heavy.

I study the black rectangle clenched in my fist. The screen lights up with the pressure, revealing the image of Ashe I set as my background. Her black snout is centered on the screen so that I can give her a nose boop throughout the day. Seeing the big puppy that keeps me warm at night settles some of my nerves.

The contact list is already long. Jude filled in each of the Powells just like he said he would. The men are all numbered one through five in order of who I should call if Dillon shows up, and it groups them together, bypassing the alphabetical function.

1. Jude

2. Jack

3. Lee

4. Aiden

5. Corjan

His sister, the partners, and his mom are all listed alphabetically, as well as the number to the Sanctuary and Jack’s motel.

The other day, I programmed in the only numbers I cared to remember from home. Since I used to own such a cheap cell phone that failed to work more often than not, I memorized any numbers I thought could be useful. Even after a few weeks, they were easy enough to recall. Lola from the boutique where I sold my art, two other friends from home, and my parents. The last one is the source of my current turmoil. I’ve been putting off reaching out for weeks now, and while there’s nothing particularly special about today, it seems just as good as any to make that call.

Evening sunlight streams into the window through the open curtains. I position myself on the edge of the bed closest to the warmth, letting the rays caress my face. Tapping the contact from the list, I tilt my head back and close my eyes. Then I bring the ringing phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Who is this?” she barks as if my greeting offended her.

I gently clear my throat. “It’s me. Frankie.”

“No, it isn’t. Frank is sitting right here.”

“It’s Frankie, your daughter.”

“Oh, Frankie.” Her gravelly voice grates on my nerves.

“Who is it?” my dad asks in the background.

“IT’S FRANKIE,” she shouts in my ear.

With a wince, I pull the phone away.

“Where you been?”

A loose thread on the bedspread gives me something to fiddle with. “I’m still in Minnesota.”

“I thought you were moving with your husband, but he called looking for ya.” The sound of her sucking in a lungful of smoke is clear across the line. “What happened to that?”

“It didn’t work out.” I pace the floor in front of the window as vindication slithers through me. I told my parents before I left I didn’t think I should marry Dillon, but I allowed them to talk me through the doubt with pretty words about new beginnings and shared responsibilities. I think all my parents saw was an opportunity to double my income, and therefore, be able to provide them with bigger handouts.

“Didn’t work out? How nice for you,” she says with a sarcastic bite. “Sometimes the hard decisions are the right ones.”

She’s absolutely right.

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