Chapter 8 - Anna Answered On The Second Ring
I had Anna’s number.
That was the worst part.
I hadn't needed detectives.
Ray.
Hotel archives.
My mother.
Her number had sat in my phone for four years.
Vivian gave it to me after our father died.
I never called.
Anna never called me either.
We had become very skilled at mutual permission.
I went upstairs to the hotel room where my navy dress still hung over a chair.
The white one suddenly felt louder than fabric should.
I called.
Once.
No answer.
I almost stopped.
Then remembered seventeen years of stopping.
I called again.
“Hello?”
Her voice was older.
Still Anna.
I sat.
“It's Claire.”
Silence.
Then:
“I know.”
Of course.
Phones have names now.
“I'm at the Bellweather.”
Longer silence.
“Why?”
“Mom's dinner.”
“That tracks.”
I looked at the watch.
“Ray Carter found Dad’s pocket watch.”
Nothing.
Then I heard her sit down.
“Say that again.”
“He found it.”
“Where?”
“Hotel archive.”
Anna laughed once.
Not happy.
“So I really did drop it.”
My throat tightened.
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
“Why didn't you come back?”
“Come back where?”
“The hotel.”
She laughed again.
“Claire.”
Fair.
“Did you take it from Dad’s suite?”
“Yes.”
No delay.
“Why?”
“Because it was mine.”
“He gave it to you?”
“Graduation.”
“Then took it back.”
“Yes.”
“Did he say why?”
“Because I wouldn't join the company.”
I stared at the wall.
No misunderstanding.
Punishment.
Anna continued.
“I took it because I was angry.”
“Did you intend to keep it?”
“Yes.”
That surprised me slightly.
“I wasn't teaching Dad a lesson.”
“What were you doing?”
“Taking something he had already given me.”
She sounded tired.
“Was entering his room wrong? Probably. Was I trying to hurt him? A little.”
Not saint Anna.
Good.
“What happened in the hallway?”
“You grabbed me.”
“I remember.”
“You broke the chain.”
“I remember.”
“I got in the elevator.”
“And the watch fell.”
“I didn't realize until the train station.”
I stopped.
“You went to the station.”
“Yes.”
Alone.
The memory of her asking me to walk her there returned.
I looked down.
“Did you call Mom?”
“No.”
“Dad?”
“No.”
“Me?”
“Three days later.”
“I remember.”
“You accused me.”
“I said you knew where it was.”
“Yes.”
“What did you say?”
“That I didn't.”
“I hung up.”
“Yes.”
No dramatic accusation followed.
That made it worse.
I asked:
“Why didn't you call again?”
Anna took time.
“Because I wanted you to.”
I almost laughed.
Of course.
She continued.
“I had made the first call.”
“So?”
“So I decided the next one was yours.”
“That was stupid.”
“Yes.”
“Mine too.”
“Yes.”
We sat inside the word.
Then I asked:
“Did you know Mom found out the watch was recovered?”
“No.”
Her voice changed.
“She knew?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Next morning.”
Silence.
Then Anna said something I did not expect.
“Don't do this.”
“What?”
“Don't turn Mom into the only reason we lost seventeen years.”
I stared.
“She lied.”
“Yes.”
“She let Dad think you took it.”
“Probably.”
“She let me—”
“Claire.”
I stopped.
Anna continued.
“You heard me tell you I didn't have it.”
“Yes.”
“You chose not to believe me.”
“Yes.”
“Dad had my number.”
“Yes.”
“I had yours.”
“Yes.”
“Mom had all of us scared of her version of things.”
Her voice softened slightly.
“She still didn't make every call we didn't make.”
I looked toward the white dress reflected in the mirror.
“What did Dad say after you left?”
Anna went quiet.
“I saw him once.”
I stopped.
“When?”
“Eight years later.”
I had not known.
“What happened?”
“Lunch.”
“Did he know you didn't take the watch?”
“No.”
“Did you tell him?”
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“What did he say?”
“He said he didn't care about the watch anymore.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
“What did he care about?”
“That I left.”
“Did you tell him why?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He said I could have come home.”
I almost laughed.
Anna's voice changed.
“I asked whether home meant I could disagree with him.”
“What did he say?”
She took too long.
“That wasn't a useful conversation.”
No deathbed correction.
No neat father.
He died four years later.
Anna continued:
“Why are you calling now?”
I looked at the watch.
“Because I wanted you to know it was found.”
“Okay.”
“And because…”
I stopped.
She waited.
I tried again.
“I think Mom used the watch to make me afraid of becoming you.”
Silence.
Then Anna said:
“She didn't have to work that hard.”
I stiffened.
“What does that mean?”
May you like
“You liked being the daughter who stayed.”
The sentence landed exactly where she meant it.
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