Forty-Seven Missed Calls
Chapter 06 - Forty-Seven Missed Calls
By morning, Margaret’s phone showed forty-seven missed calls.
The number seemed both absurd and familiar. Lauren had always believed urgency could be manufactured by repetition. If one call did not work, twelve might. If twelve did not work, she could add a message sharpened at both ends.
Margaret sat by the inn window in her robe, drinking coffee June had left outside the door in a blue mug shaped slightly wrong at the handle. The ocean was pale under the winter morning. A man walked a terrier along the seawall. Somewhere downstairs, plates clinked and someone laughed at something ordinary.
Margaret listened to the first voicemail.
Mom, this is out of hand. Call me before you make this worse.
She deleted it.
Second.
The kids are confused. You didn’t have to punish them.
Deleted.
Third.
If this is about what I said, you misunderstood.
Margaret paused there.
Misunderstood was a favorite family broom. Sweep enough beneath it, and nobody had to see the mess.
She deleted that one, too.
The fourth voicemail was Todd.
Margaret, it’s Todd. I owe you an apology. I thought Lauren asked. I swear I did. I’m sorry. The kids are okay. We got a hotel. Please don’t worry about them.
Margaret let that one play twice.
Then she saved it.
The fifth was Mia.
Grandma? It’s me. Mom said not to call, but I wanted to know if you’re okay. I saw you driving. I hope you’re somewhere pretty. Rosie thinks you’re mad at her. I told her you aren’t. Please call me when you can. Not Mom. Me.
Margaret covered her mouth.
She called Mia first.
Her granddaughter answered in a whisper. “Grandma?”
“Hi, sweetheart.”
“Are you at the ocean?”
“I am.”
“Is it cold?”
“Very.”
“Good cold or bad cold?”
Margaret looked out at the gulls riding the wind. “Good cold.”
Mia breathed out. “Rosie cried because she thought you left because Jack spilled juice last week.”
“Oh, honey. No. Never.” Margaret sat straighter. “You tell Rosie I love her. I love all of you. I left because grown-ups made plans without asking me, and that is not your fault.”
Mia was quiet for a moment. “Mom says family doesn’t need permission.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“Family needs respect most of all.”
Down the hall, someone knocked softly. Margaret knew it was June but did not answer yet.
Mia whispered, “Are you coming home for Christmas?”
Margaret looked at Henry’s notebook on the table.
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Oh.”
The disappointment was careful, and that hurt worse than if the child had begged.
“But I’ll call you tonight,” Margaret said. “You can put me on speaker with the little ones if your dad says it’s okay.”
“Not Mom?”
“Your dad.”
Mia understood more than Margaret wished she did.
After they hung up, Margaret opened the door. June stood there with a breakfast tray and an expression that said she had heard just enough to know not to ask details.
“Egg casserole,” June said. “Fruit. Toast. And before you argue, no, this does not count as being a burden.”
Margaret almost smiled. “You run a dangerous establishment.”
“I specialize in women remembering they’re allowed to eat before noon.”
Over breakfast, Naomi called.
The property records had not changed. That was good. No lien, no equity line, no sale. But the bank had confirmed someone had attempted to start a review using incomplete documents.
“And the care authorization?” Margaret asked.
“Likely invalid,” Naomi said. “But the signature issue is serious.”
Margaret rubbed her forehead. “I don’t want my daughter arrested before Christmas.”
“Then we proceed carefully. Firmly, but carefully.”
There was a difference, Margaret knew, between mercy and denial. She was still learning where one ended and the other began.
At ten-thirty, Todd called.
She answered.
He sounded exhausted. “Margaret, I’m sorry.”
“I heard your message.”
“I believed Lauren. That’s not an excuse. I should have called you myself.”
“Yes,” Margaret said. “You should have.”
A long silence passed. She could hear children in the background, a hotel TV, someone asking for syrup.
Todd said, “There’s more. Lauren didn’t tell me everything.”
Margaret’s hand tightened around the phone.
“She’s been hiding bills,” he continued. “Credit cards. A personal loan. I knew we were tight. I didn’t know how bad.”
Margaret looked at the ocean.
“And my house was going to fix that.”
Todd did not answer.
He didn’t have to.
Before Margaret could speak, another call came through. Unknown number.
Then a voicemail.
Naomi texted a second later.
Do not respond if Marlene Givens contacts you. She has filed paperwork claiming you may be financially vulnerable and influenced by outside parties.
Margaret read the message twice.
Outside parties.
She looked at June, at Sam carrying a box of firewood through the lobby, at the ocean Henry had wanted her to see.
For the first time, she felt not only hurt.
She felt hunted.
And then her phone rang again.
This time, the caller ID showed Lauren.
May you like
Margaret answered and said only one word.
“Explain.”
