Harrington 4

The Call Up

Steve's voice sounds the same as always, and I hold the phone an inch or so from my ear as he continues his outburst.

"What's going on? Where are you calling from? Why haven't any of us heard from you in so long?"

I laugh a little. "You only get the phone if you have good behaviour."

He pauses then, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "Raising a little hell out there?"

"You know it."

"That's the Harrington way."

There's silence for a minute, and then he continues. "Listen, I'm glad you called. I need you to come back."

I laugh again. "You said that when I called last."

"But that was over eight months ago." Steve's voice is laced with sadness. "Why haven't you called? Honestly? You've been off the grid basically since you left. Me and Robin were gonna drive down there this weekend. Everyone misses you . . . I — miss you. It feels like you haven't . . . I dunno — like you haven't been making any effort to stay in contact."

"Look, Steve." I sigh. This is exactly why I didn't need a phone call. I can't deal with this right now. "Things are complicated here."

"Complicated how?" he presses, and I don't answer. I can feel him getting upset. "Why won't you tell me anything that's going on over there? Why do you have to keep us all in the dark—?"

"Because it's better this way," I cut him off. "I can't come home, you know that, and things are fine here — they're boring, even. I just need . . . I'm fine here, Steve. Really, I'm okay."

"Well what about me?"

Something scratches at the stone around my heart, but nothing strong enough to break itself in.

"Look, Steve—"

"Dad's got himself a lawyer," he interrupts me. "If you don't come home and testify, he'll be out of jail in the next couple of weeks. His court date is the 4th."

My breath hitches then, my brow furrowing at the mention of my father. I imagine him locked up, the same as me, only it seems like he might get out before I do.

"I'm living at an apartment on Melbourne, now," he goes on, mistaking my silence as consideration. "158, Melbourne. Apartment 4b—"

"Why can't you testify?" I cut him off, but I know his answer before it comes.

"You know I can't do much," Steve says, his voice barely a whisper. "You got the worst of it."

Yeah, I did. I face the prison wall and run a hand down my face.

"Even if I wanted to come back." I stare around the cell placidly. "I can't."

"I'll come and get you, I'll—"

"The payphone's about to run out." I say quickly, shutting my eyes. "Bye, Steve."

"Wait, Liz—!"

I hang up the phone, my grubby thumb holding the button down as I stare at the spot my brother's voice came from. I try to feel remorse, or sadness, or anything, but all I feel is a twinge of guilt that I sweep away like a common spot of dust.

I hand the officer back the phone, and he hangs it up on the wall.

"You didn't even tell him where you were."

I snort. "What good would that have done either of us?"

I lie back down. All I want now is a couple hours of shut-eye before I face whatever it is I'll have to face tomorrow. I imagine that Mrs Weatherberry will be here come morning, and I can only picture her fury as she realizes what I've gotten myself into and how difficult it may be to get out.