Chapter 7: The Voice on the Phone
I called Robert at seven-thirty in the morning.
I had been awake since four.
I had made coffee, let it go cold, made more.
I had picked up the envelope with his number written on it and set it down again so many times the paper had gone soft at the edges.
Carol had offered to stay the night.
I had told her to go home to her husband.
This was something I needed to do in an empty house, with no one watching my face.
The phone rang three times.
Then: "Hello?"
A man's voice.
Medium pitch.
A little cautious, the way people are when they don't recognize the number.
My throat closed.
"Hello?" he said again.
"Robert." My voice came out steadier than I expected.
"My name is Eleanor Carter.
I — Patricia Hale gave me your number.
I'm—"
I stopped.
I had rehearsed this.
I had rehearsed it for three hours.
Every version I had practiced now felt completely wrong.
"I know who you are," he said.
The words landed quietly.
"You do?"
"Patricia called me this morning.
Before you called." A pause.
"She said you'd gotten the letter.
She said you might call today."
"I hope that's — I hope this isn't too sudden."
"No." Another pause, longer.
"I've been waiting eleven years for this call.
It's not too sudden."
I pressed my hand flat against the kitchen table.
"I need you to know something," I said.
"Before anything else.
I didn't know.
About the pregnancy.
About you.
I was eighteen and my mother — she handled things without telling me.
I went to Vermont and I came home and I didn't understand what had happened to me until two days ago."
Silence.
"Robert?"
"I'm here." His voice had changed slightly.
Something had shifted in it.
"I didn't know that."
"I know you didn't.
I know all you had was your birth record and a first name.
I know that's not much."
"It wasn't." A breath.
"I used to think — when I was younger, I used to think you just didn't want me.
That it was a choice."
"It wasn't."
"I know that now." Another breath.
"I think I knew it before today, honestly.
Patricia was careful about what she told me, but she was — she was clear that the situation was complicated.
That there were other people involved."
"My mother," I said.
"And Thomas."
"He found me.
Did you know that?
He hired Patricia."
"I know.
He told me in the letter."
"He never contacted me directly.
Patricia said he wanted to — he wanted to make sure you knew first.
That you had the chance to decide." A pause.
"I didn't understand that at the time.
I was frustrated.
But I think I understand it now."
I looked out the kitchen window.
The garden was gray and still.
The roses I had planted the year my husband died had come back again, bare-stemmed for winter.
"I have two other children," I said.
"A daughter named Carol and a son named David.
They know about you."
"How did they take it?"
"Carol wants to know if you're a decent person before she decides how she feels."
He laughed.
It was sudden and genuine and it hit me somewhere behind the sternum.
"That's fair," he said.
"David wants to be there when I meet you.
If we meet."
"When," Robert said.
Not if.
"I'd like that.
If you're willing."
"I'm willing." My voice was not quite steady now.
"I want you to know — whatever you need from me, whatever questions you have, I will answer all of them.
I won't hide anything."
"I have a lot of questions."
"I know."
"Not all of them are easy."
"I know that too."
A long pause.
"I have two daughters," he said.
"Eleven and fourteen.
Their names are Maya and June." Another pause.
"I told them about you.
Last night, after Patricia called.
I told them I might be talking to their grandmother soon."
My hand went to my mouth.
He kept talking, carefully.
"I hope that's okay.
I didn't want to keep it from them.
We don't — we don't keep things from each other in our house."
"It's okay," I managed.
"It's more than okay."
"June cried," he said.
"She's the fourteen-year-old.
She's dramatic.
She gets it from her mother."
I was crying.
I didn't try to hide it.
"Eleanor." He said my name the way you say a word you've been practicing.
"I'd like to come and see you.
If you'll have me."
"Yes," I said.
"Please.
Yes."
After we hung up, I sat for a long time in the quiet kitchen.
Then my phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number.
Not Richard Holt this time.
A different number.
*I know what Robert is about to find out.
Do you?
May you like
Call me before he gets there.
— R.H.*
