the Phone Call

A very short scene about a phone conversation. Pretty self-explanatory, yeah?

******

It hurt to acknowledge it, and yet I knew I had to. This was the last straw. This was my breaking point. Holding the baby on my hip I clenched the phone in my other hand and breathed, slowly, for a count of ten. You can do this, Mary. You can do this. It was the hardest thing in the world to call my parents' number that night, but I didn't know who else to ask.

"Mama?" I could hear Charley barking in the background - he had such a high, squeaky bark it was easily distinguishable, even over the bad connection. "Mama, are you there?"

"Just a minute, querida." I heard her put the phone down; there was a crash, and the sound of a door shutting. "Hello? Mary-Margaret?"

"Mama, I need help." I curled the phone into my body the same way I cradled my sleeping daughter. "David didn't come home last night."

My mother's voice was calm, as unruffled as her slow Spanish accent. "Did he take the car with him, querida?"

"No, Mama, but he took the keys."

There was a beat of silence after my last remark, then I heard a soft curse and the sound of movement. "Okay. Okay, baby. I'll come get you. Where are you? Home?"

"Yes. Yes, but Mama..." How to tell her? How did I tell my mother it wasn't safe for her to come to my house? The baby started to cry.

Gen