Clandestine

fifteen

-diane-

I stay glued to my phone all day. I don't know when my father will be released, but he promised that he would call when he was leaving the jail. I can't wait to see him so that the worry in the pit of my stomach can finally leave.

When I get a strange number on my cell phone, I don't hesitate to answer it. It looks vaguely familiar. Maybe it's one of my father's friends. Perhaps his cell phone ran out of battery and he had borrow someone else's.

I say, "Hello?"

"Hello. Is this Diane Tinsley?"

Marcia Quintana.

I drop the phone. It lands with a crash. I don't want to pick it up, but I know I need to hear whatever Marcia Quintana wants to say. I know it can't be good, but...I need to know.

I pick the phone back up with shaking fingers and press it against my ear. It's silent.

I hesitantly say, "Hello?"

"Yes, Diane? I think I lost you for a second."

"The connection must be bad."

"Yes, I'm sure that is the case. I'm afraid I have some news to tell you."

"You've decided to keep my father in jail for the rest of his life? Just as a precautionary measure?" I immediately curse myself for saying this. I'm not supposed to know the true terminology surrounding my father's injustice. Marcia Quintana told me that he had admitted to some crimes.

Her voice is careful. "Did your father tell you that?"

"Yes." In this situation, the lie is better than the illegal truth. I would be thrown into jail if she knew that I was hacking the Assembly database.

"I specifically told him not to tell him to tell anyone. I suppose he can't tell anyone else now."

"I begged him to. It wasn't his fault."

She sighs on the other side of the phone. "Don't try to take responsibility for your father's crimes, Diane. He is the grown up. He is supposed to be responsible so that he can take care of you. You are just a kid."

I don't say anything because I am afraid of what I might say if I open my lips. How dare she?

She sighs heavily on the other side of the phone, "I'm afraid the I have some rather bad news to tell you. It hurts me to give you pain, but it is my responsibility to let you know. I hope you don't grow any type of hatred towards me, just because I delivered this message."

It's too late for her. I've already developed enough hatred towards her to last a lifetime.

I say, "Just tell me. I hate suspense."

"You seem to not like a lot of things. You remind me a lot of your father."

I remind her of who she thinks is a criminal.

"Just tell me."

"Are you sure? Do you want to sit down first? Is anyone over there with you? Maybe you should be with a friend when you hear this?"

By now my hand is shaking so badly that I can barely hold the phone against my ears. My knees threaten to give out.

I say, "Tell me."

"Okay, okay. Your father got into a fight last night at the jail. He is dead."