Page 35 of Call Me Anytime
“Am I a burden, honey?” she asks, and her voice shakes so much it makes my lip quiver.
“No,” I say and mean it. Even on the bad days, even on the days when I don’t feel like I know how we’re going to survive, my mother is never a burden. I love her too much. “Never.”
“You graduated high school, right?” she asks, surprising a laugh out of me.
“Yes. And I got through most of my bachelor’s degree at MTSU.”
She quirks an eyebrow. “Most?”
“It’s just taking a little longer than I thought it would,” I answer, giving her a half truth because I refuse to sour this moment with anything that would make her feel bad. “But I’ll finish it soon.”I hope. Someday.
“I’m so proud of you, Hannah. So proud of you, my beautiful girl.” She leans forward to press her forehead to mine in the same way she always used to when I was a little girl. “I’ve always been so proud of you. Your father was too.” Tears prick my eyes at her mention of my dad. “And boy, did he love you something fierce.”
“He loved us both fiercely,” I tell her and don’t try to hide the emotion that slides down my face.
“He did, didn’t he?” she whispers, her forehead still pressed to mine. “He was such a good man. Such a good husband. Such a good father. We got lucky with him, that’s for sure.”
Danny May was a one-of-a-kind man. He loved with his whole heart, and not a single day went by without him making me or my mom smile and laugh. He had the best sense of humor, and while he was strong and protective, he was never too macho to show his affection freely.
“We did.” I nod, sniffling. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too, darling. So much.” Her face crumples again, and I pull her into a hug full of emotion I’ve felt for the last year. It’s every moment she’s missed, every conversation I’ve dreamed of. It’s care and compassion and love and longing, and if I had my way, it would never end.
“It’s going to be okay,” she says in my ear, and I soak up every ounce of her words as she pushes back and drops her arms. “Gibbs trusts you. Tony trusts you. You’re finding your place on the team, okay?”
My heart drops, and a sound I don’t understand escapes my throat in a startling gulp. Her smile is still there, but my mom is, once again, gone. Back to the safety net in her mind and away from the reality burning through my bones.
I’m Ziva again.
And my heart is broken.
14
Dominic
Thursday, May 16
11:30 a.m.
The springs of the chair I’ve pulled into Hannah’s “sex cubicle,” as she calls it, strain as I push back with my legs and stretch, and I move my neck from side to side to loosen it up. This is my third day of taking calls with her from inside the building while Shane mans the van, and I’m sorry to say, things don’t seem to be getting any easier for Hannah at all.
Today in particular, she seems completely dejected, and I spent the first ten calls just trying to get her to say something that wasn’t outright depressing.
I hate seeing her like this. There’s a quiet fire in Hannah that I’ve been lucky enough to catch glimpses of, and when it’s not burning as bright as I know it should, it bothers me more than I’d like to admit.
Thankfully, she now seems to be falling into a little bit of a rhythm, and I haven’t had to remind her this isn’t a suicide hotline even once.
I think the Dunn coffees I ran and got from down the street helped a bit, and in a little while, I think I’ll leave the CMA headquarters for a hot minute to grab us some lunch.
I know her life is a lot harder than it seems—and itseemshard enough from my perspective, sitting here next to her day after day while she talks to these fuckers. Trust me.
“Oh yeah. I’m ready,” she says to our current caller, a guy by the name of Waylon, who seems more than a little preoccupied with the setting of their dial-in adventure.
“I’ve got a strobe set up and the stereo is blaring, and I can feel the pounding of your pulse in my veins.”
“Sounds ... exciting,” Hannah says, shrugging and rolling her eyes at me and making me smile. I don’t know what it is about the way she does that—so subtle, so natural—but it makes my heart flip over on itself every time.
“Oh yeah?” Waylon carries on. “You like to party, don’t you? I can tell.”
