Jane Rose Porter
The knot of gold slipped from Lucy’s fingers to the parquet floor when the phone rang. “Shit!” she called into the empty room and pressed the phone to her cheek, crawling along the floor of her studio apartment. She ran her fingers between the uneven grooves of the old floorboards in search of the gold chain and its elephant charm.
“What is it?” she said, groping along the slats of wood. Her father was calling. He always wanted to talk at the most inopportune moments, but she felt an obligation to answer when his name appeared on her phone. The last time she'd ignored his calls, her grandmother had suffered a heart attack and nearly died.
“Why such a rush? You’ve got someone over there waiting for you?” he said.
“Mind your business,” she said.
“You know where I was today?" he went on. "You’re not going to believe where I was today.” Every phone call with him, like a bad standup routine.
“Hurry up, Dad. I’m late.” She pressed her free cheek to the floor and peered under the sofa, thick with dust and hair.
“You know who called me?” he tried instead, as… Read more »