The seatbelt sign dinged above me, but I barely heard it. My thumb kept pressing replay on the voicemail Sarah had left a night ago. The one that cut off mid-sentence with a soft, startled « Mom, I need to tell you some – » and then nothing.
Three days in Chicago balancing spreadsheets for a client, and all I could think about was that half-swallowed word.
« You’ve listened to that thing 10 times, » my co-worker, Lola, who also worked as a paralegal, said from the seat beside me, closing her paperback. « Everything okay at home, Maureen? »
I barely heard it.
« It’s fine. Just Sarah being Sarah. »
« Mm. »
« What’s that supposed to mean? »
« Nothing, » Lola tucked the book into her bag. « Just, you’ve been jumpy for months. »
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