Page 66 of Mother Clucker

Chuckling, I headed for the truck. I felt better just being out of the canned air of the hospital and in the sunshine. Even the traffic would be a pleasure compared to the steady beep-beep-beep of the monitors.

I climbed into the driver’s seat and set my cell in the console. Then I remembered the call. It took a few times of me hitting the wrong buttons. I probably shouldn’t even be driving I was so damn tired. But finally, I got my call log up.

And there I saw it. My most recent incoming call. All of four seconds long.

I recognized the number. I just hadn’t gotten around to saving it to my contact list yet.

It was Heather.

My sister said the caller had hung up when she’d answered.

Heather had called me and hung up when a woman answered my cell. It didn’t take much to leap to the conclusion of what she must have thought hearing Amy’s voice on my phone.

Fuck.

I hadn’t even closed the door of the truck yet as I hit to recall the number.

It rang and rang then I got the voicemail prompt. I hated voicemail but I sure as fuck was going to leave one now.

“Heather. It’s David. I’m so sorry I haven’t been in touch. My dad’s back in the hospital. I, uh, see you called. My sister answered the phone. Call me back. Okay? Bye.”

I wanted to say I wished I could see her right now. I wanted to apologize for being a self-centered dumbass for not calling or texting for—how long had it been? I’d lost track of time in the bubble that was my father’s curtained cubicle in ICU.

Excuses. Explanations. None of it would matter if I couldn’t get her to talk to me.

I deserved whatever I got for driving around with a dead cell for a day, and then being too consumed in my own misery to remember to call from the hospital when I’d finally charged it.

My only hope was that she’d listen to the voicemail. It wasn’t much but I was running a little short on hope all around right now.

26

Heather

“Mono?” I asked June, not sure I believed what she’d told me.

What adult got Mononucleosis? Wasn’t that a college thing? The kissing disease they called it, though it was more likely a too much partying and not enough sleep or healthy food disease.

It still made no sense why the owner of the beach house, a fifty-year-old woman, should be cutting her vacation short because she’d come down with Mono while in Mexico.

“They’ll be back tomorrow so?—”

“Make sure I’m out of there before then?” I finished my boss’s sentence.

“Hey, you had a nice long stay at the beach. Didn’t you? Can’t have everything,” she said.

True that. But at the moment it seemed like I had nothing as one thing after another was taken from me. Like rugs being yanked out from beneath my feet.

David. Whoosh.

Beach house. Whoosh.

What next? My job? Probably, if I didn’t play nice with the head of my department.

“You’re right. It was beautiful while it lasted. And thank you so much for suggesting me for the housesitting job. I really appreciate it.”

“You’re very welcome.”

It was almost nauseating how overly sweet I could pretend to be while she had no clue I was faking it all.

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