Bloomington

The Wrong Kind of Company

The Voicemails

Jackie had been staring at her phone for eleven minutes.

She knew because the kitchen clock above the stove was the loud kind, the kind that counted every second like a verdict. She'd made coffee. Let it go cold. Picked up her phone. Set it down again. The shower was still running down the hall, steam curling faintly under the bathroom door.

Two voicemails. Both from a blocked number she already knew by heart.

She'd listened to the first one last week and immediately turned her phone over. The transcript had been enough. But the second one, she hadn't touched it.

She pressed play.

"Jackie." Her mother's voice. Clipped. Controlled. The voice she used when she was about to be right about something. "I've had time to think, and I need you to hear me out. This woman was your professor. You were barely twenty years old when all of this started and I don't care what you think love is, that is not a relationship that should have happened. She was in a position of power over you and I am sorry but someone has to say it. You've always been too trusting. Too easy to reach. I love you but I am asking you, please, before you make this permanent, think about what you're doing to your career. To our family's name. Call me back."

Silence.

Then the shower turned off.

Jackie set the phone face down on the counter, slow and careful, like setting down something breakable. She wrapped both hands around her cold mug and stared at the window. Outside, Ethan was chasing a shadow on the patio. The sky was white and overcast. Everything felt very still.

Catherine appeared in the doorway in a robe, hair wrapped in a towel, one hand at her temple.

CATHERINE
You didn't make yourself any eggs.

JACKIE
Wasn't hungry.

Catherine crossed the kitchen, reached past her for the coffee pot, and stopped when she saw Jackie's face.

CATHERINE
What happened?

JACKIE
Nothing. My mother called.

CATHERINE
(quietly) Again?

JACKIE
Second voicemail. I finally listened to it.

Catherine didn't ask what it said. She'd seen enough of Jackie's expression to know the shape of it.

She poured herself a coffee and leaned against the counter beside her. Not touching. Not filling the silence. Just there.

JACKIE
She said you took advantage of me.

Catherine's jaw tightened. Barely. But Jackie caught it.

CATHERINE
Did she.

JACKIE
She's wrong.

CATHERINE
I know.

JACKIE
I need you to know that I know.

Catherine turned and looked at her then, really looked. Whatever she found there made her exhale slowly.

CATHERINE
I do.

But before either of them could say anything else, three sharp knocks landed on the front door.

They looked at each other.

Tommy

He was standing on the front step with a paper coffee cup in one hand and his other tucked in the pocket of a grey jacket. He looked like he'd been rehearsing what to say and then forgot it at the last second.