"To my room. I forgot to call Danielle."
Mom has this puppy dog look on her face; I think she knows I'm lying.
In my room I open the top drawer of my desk. In an envelope I keep my dad's phone number. My hands are shaking as I dial his number.
It rings three times before he answers. "Jerry Armstrong here."
"Urn ... Dad?"
"Maggie, is that you?"
"Yeah."
"How's my little girl holding up?"
"Fine.
"And your leg? The last time we talked you were having a bit of trouble."
"It's better, I guess."
It feels good to talk to my dad. Hearing his familiar voice takes away the black cloud that always seems to hover over me. I don't want to tell him the truth about my leg because I only want to share good news. If I'm positive, then maybe he won't want to forget I'm his daughter.
"Great. And school?"
I swallow the reality and say as cheerfully as I can, "Perfect. I'm getting all As," I lie. "Wow."
There's silence, but I don't want him to hang up. I feel desperate. He sounds enthusiastic, but I'm not sure.
"How's your mother doing?" he finally says, breaking the silence.
She's currently having a date with her boss in our living room. She's fine. "
"Glad to hear it. I miss you, sweetheart."
"I miss you, too. When can I see you?"
No matter how many times I promise myself I won't beg him, I fail. It's like something inside me snaps when I think he's going to end the conversation. I want to yell, Aren't I good enough? but I don't.
"Sometime soon, when business settles down."
The black cloud returns--I've heard those exact words before. Too many times.
"Maggie, can you do me a favor?"
I'm holding back tears as I say, "What?"
"Tell your mother I sent her a check last week. And to have her lawyer stop calling mine. It's costing me a fortune every time he calls, like a hundred and fifty an hour."
"I'll tell her."
Someone else is talking in the background and I can tell I'm losing his attention. "I have to take another call, sweetheart. I'm sorry, it's important. I'll call you soon."
"Okay. I love you, Dad."
"Love you too, Mags."
Click.
I swallow hard and lean my head back against the wall. As much as I tell myself not to, I'm crying. I'd love to throw myself onto my bed and sob into my pillow, but Mom'll probably hear me.
The phone rings, startling me. I'm still holding the cordless in my hand. Could it be my dad calling back so soon? He always says he'll call but never does. Maybe he's changed. Maybe he realizes after hearing my voice he misses me so much he can't stand it anymore. "Hello?" I say excitedly.
There's a hesitation on the line, then a female voice recording says, "This is High Spring Water Company reminding you that there's a special on our five-gallon water bottles for the month of October. If you'd like to order--"
I hang up the phone in the middle of the recording. God, I feel so alone. There's nobody in my life who remotely understands what I've been going through.
Except one person.
My fingers dial the Becker's number automatically before my brain can comprehend what I'm doing. "Hello."
It's him--Caleb. I don't even know what to say. "Maggie? I know it's you, we have caller ID." I forgot about that. "Hi," I mumble. "What's up?"
Tears come to my eyes. "I just... wanted to talk to you."
"Why are you crying? Are you hurt? Did you fall?"
I can't talk because I don't want him to know how weak I am ... how much I need his friendship right now. God, all those years I thought I would die if he didn't love me as much as I loved him. But now I realize how stupid I was.
"If you don't answer me, I'm coming over whether your mom's there or not." His voice is hard and commanding, and I know he means it.
"No, don't come over. Can you meet me at Paradise Park in ten minutes?"
"I'll be there," he promises.
I take the sleeve of my shirt and wipe at my eyes. "Caleb?"
"Yeah."
"Thanks."
I splash water on my eyes in the bathroom, tell my mom that I'm going over to Danielle's, and head for the park.
Caleb walks up a minute later wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a plain button-down shirt over it. He slows his stride when he sees me and, without a word, pulls me into an embrace.
Now I'm losing it, right into his shirt. I clutch onto him as the sobs start and don't stop. I let it all out--my mom's date, my dad's conversation, my confusion about it all. Caleb doesn't laugh, he doesn't pull away, he doesn't talk ... he just lets me be me.
When I settle down, I lean back and witness the mess I've made on his shirt. "I made your shirt all gross," I say between sniffles.
"Forget the shirt. What's going on? I couldn't understand a word you mumbled into my chest."
Now I'm half laughing and half crying. He looks down at my hand. I do, too. He slowly reaches out and takes my fingers in his. God, how I dreamed of us holding hands all those years ago. He'd take my hand in his and we'd walk down the street together. I look up at his eyes. Usually they're dark and brooding, but now I see a warmth there I'd never noticed before. He leads me to the old oak. We both sit down, then he leans back against the tree right next to me and lets go of my hand. "Okay, now talk."