“Hello?”
“This is a collect call from Richard Blackwell, an inmate at the Federal Correctional Institution in Bastrop, Texas. To accept this call and the associated charges, press 1. To decline, press 2. This call may be monitored and recorded.”
“What?” She pressed one. “Dad? Are you there? Are you OK?”
“Yes, sweetheart, listen. I don’t have long. Your mom told me you asked her to send along my provenance research notes. Ineed you to back off. I know you’re hurting and that this is all unfair, but I made my bed. I should have known better.”
“But Dad—”
“No. Let this go. You’re not doing me any favors by putting yourself in danger.”
“I can handle myself.”
“I don’t doubt it. You might even think you can handle her, but believe me, honey, she will eat you alive.”
She closed her eyes. “I’m not really doing anything. I just… I research. You know that’s all I do.”
“Pen?”
“Yes?”
“Drop it.”
“I can’t, Dad.” Her voice broke. “I don’t know how. Please tell Mom to send me the notes. I promise I’ll—”
“I’ll think about it.”
“I won’t give up. With or without your help.”
Silence.
“Dad?”
“I heard you.” Richard sighed. “I have to go. Please be careful.”
“I will.”
“I love you, Pen.”
“I love you, too.”
The call ended.
Penelope covered her mouth with her hand as the backyard blurred and her heart stalled. The burn of held-back tears made her eyes sting. They hadn’t talked much since his incarceration two years ago—his choice—and at times it was like missing a limb.
She recalled his voice, and sometimes she’d listen to the few voice messages she had of him, but it never compared to talking to him in real time. Worse, he remained out of reach.
Her coffee had gone cold. The mug felt heavy now, an anchor in her lap.
~ ~ ~
At work the next day, Penelope struggled to concentrate. Tasks she could usually do in her sleep took forever, riddled with errors that only fueled the inferno in her gut.
Shortly before noon, the event coordinator of the Luminary Ball stuck her head into her office.
“Hey, Dr.Blackwell. Sorry to bother you, but I need an answer, and you might not have gotten my last email,” Emma said.
“What’s this about?”
