Saturday: I almost told my mother today. I don’t even know what came over me. We were eating Thanksgiving leftover sandwiches and talking about playing board games that night, and suddenly I was just about to say it. I actually started the sentence. But the words just wouldn’t come out of my mouth. No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t actually say them.
Sunday: Marissa sent me a picture of Iris today. She’s holding up a picture of a turkey hand and the caption said she misses me. It’s amazing how much she’s grown. I guess I don’t think about it all that much when I’m there but seeing a picture of her like that really makes me realize it. Time is going by fast. I wasn’t really ready for that.
Chapter Nineteen
Nothing says Thanksgiving week quite like eighty-percent-off jack o’ lanterns staring down Santa from across a crowded aisle in the seasonal section of a sprawling discount department store.
Or, so I’m learning.
It’s the Sunday before Thanksgiving, and since I’ve been ousted from the grocery store in town, my trip for last-minute groceries has become a quest to the next town over. I’ll admit, I was tempted to go to the regular grocery store when I realized I still needed Sam’s can of cranberry sauce and wanted to throw together a couple of extra dinner and snack options for the amount of time everybody would be at my house.
But he wasn’t particularly keen on that idea. He told me it’s the holidays and I’m not allowed to do protest demonstrations that could land me in jail. I have a turkey I need to cook.
I feel as if it’s a bit of an exaggeration that I would get myself tossed into jail. Particularly considering he’s the sheriff, and I think I could convince him to let me out. But he’s probably right. There’s enough chaos going on right now that I don’t need to confront Gretchen over the nasty whispers and rumors surrounding the situation with Gabriel.
With any luck, the truth will be revealed soon enough, and they’ll know it wasn’t me who led him astray.
It’s a bit of a battle getting through everybody who left their shopping to the ninety-six hours before Thanksgiving, and even though I hear my phone ringing a couple of times, I don’t risk trying to answer it. I am not going to be that person. The one cluelessly wandering around in public babbling on my phone and not paying attention to what’s actually going on.
When I finally manage to get the last things on my list, zip through one of the self-checkout lanes and get out to my car, I take a second to check my phone. All the missed calls have come from the same number that called me before, the one with the area code I recognize, but that’s it.
They certainly seem persistent at getting to me, which tells me it may not be a wrong number after all. And this time, they left a message. Turning on the heat to keep away the cold temperatures that have crept in to emphasize the holiday season, I access my voicemail box to hear the message.
“Hello, Ms. Griffin. This is Nancy Fulbright from the University. I’ve been trying to get ahold of you, but we seem to be missing each other. Your other number isn’t working, so I tried this one. I just wanted to let you know I pulled all of that information that you requested and can send it along to you. If you would give me a call and confirm your email address, I would appreciate it. I am in the office today to finish up work before the holiday week. I will be in for a half-day tomorrow, then I’m off for the Thanksgiving holiday and won’t be back in the office until the next Tuesday. Thank you and have a great day!”
I sit and stare at my phone when I finish listening to the message. Not sure I heard it right, I play it again. I definitely heard it right. That was the administrative office from my college calling to let me know they had gathered up all the information I requested from them but couldn’t reach me on my other number.
Except I didn’t request any information from them, and I don’t have another number.
Setting my phone in the holder attached to my dash, I call the number back and put it on speakerphone so I can talk while making the drive back home.
“This is Nancy,” the same voice from the message says after three rings.
“Hi, Nancy, this is Emma Griffin. I just got a voicemail from you,” I say.
“Oh, yes,” she says, sounding excited and almost relieved to have heard from me. “Thank you for calling me back. I’ve called a few times but haven’t gotten an answer.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize the number and there was no message,” I tell her.
“Well, I’m glad to have caught up now. The office received your message a couple of weeks ago. You must have called from your car because the reception wasn’t very good, but I think we caught everything. I’ll send you what I found and if anything is missing, you just call me back and I’ll find it for you, alright?” she asks.
I feel almost bombarded with her cheerfulness, and I have to take a second to let everything she said sink in.
“What information is this?” I ask. “I’m sorry for the confusion, I just have a lot going on, as
