“...OK, I guess that’ll do it.”
But in the night I kept thinking about it, and in the morning I said, “Rick, getting back to Mother, who you may be getting sick of, but I can’t get her out of my mind, and that idea you had, the card I’d mail from New York. It’s OK, except for one thing: it’ll take at lease a week, and this is Thursday, after me leaving home on Monday. Or in other words, sending a card that way, it’ll be ten days from the time I took off, and in that time God only knows what she does from worry about me. And if we lost out for that reason, we’d just have ourselves to thank for not getting with it and...”
“OK, I’ve changed my mind. Call her.”
“Oh, Rick, thanks, thanks, thanks.”
“But not from here, not from the hotel. It’s small, not like the one in Baltimore, and the girl on the board could get nosy, she could listen in. There’s a drugstore down the street, next door to that restaurant we ate in last night, and all drugstores have a booth. Put in a station-to-station call, dial the area code, then your house number, and drop in the money, in coins, soon as the operator tells you. Then she won’t know.”
“OK, I’ll do it now.”
“But let’s pack and check out. I’ll wait in the lobby.”
“Yes, that’s the best way. I’ll do it.”
So I packed and went down, and he checked us out. Then he sat down to wait, and I said, “I’ll make it as quick as I can, and then we can have breakfast. In the bus terminal would be nice.”
“OK, I’ll be right here.”
I went out and walked down the street and, sure enough, there was the drugstore. I went in and changed five dollars into quarters, nickels, and dimes. Then I went in the booth and dialed. But I kept getting a busy. That was Mother, it turned out, calling the dispatcher downtown of Steve’s trucking company to say he couldn’t drive that day for reasons I’ll get to later. Then she had to call his replacement, guy name of Jim Dolan, to tell him he had to drive — take the Parcel Post up to New York, then pick up wine off the boats, off the French Line boats at their pier, and bring it back on the down trip next day. So it kept her on the phone, and that’s why I couldn’t get through. I guess it went on for twenty minutes, until the fourth or fifth time that I tried, and then at last Mother came on. I said, “Mother, this is Mandy.”
“...Well! Where are you? And what have you been up to?”
“Mother, is that how you talk to me? When I call with love in my heart? To explain to you what I did. I mean leaving home that way and leaving that note for you.”
“I asked what you’ve been up to.”
“Who says I’ve been up to anything?”
“You must have been. What about that coat?”
“...What coat?”
Because I own up that caught me completely off guard, and I had to stall, to get my mind together. She said, “The one you showed Ed Vernick!”
“How do you know about that?”
“He called me, that’s how I know. To warn me that something went on — and put himself on notice. He did not mean to be dragged in. I ask you once more, where did you get it?”
“...From a store is where, a Baltimore store.”
“You mean you stole it?”
“I mean I bought it.”
“With what?”
“Money, what do you think?”
“Yes, but where did you get it?”
“...I found it. On the floor of a car.”
“What car?”
“I don’t care to say what car!”
“The whole thing sounds like what Ed Vernick said, a mess. And you’re not telling the truth about where you got that money! I don’t believe you found it, on the floor of a car or anywhere. Mandy, if some man gave it to you, you’re going to pay a price, you’re going to pay one awful price, I warn you. Mandy, while you can, I beg you come home. It’s only...”
“Mother, I can’t, I won’t.”
“Where are you?”
“That I prefer not to say.”
“Mandy, I have to know!”
“Mother, I promised not to say.”
“Promised whom?”
“It’s none of your business whom.”
She began hooking it up then, with loud, snuffly sobs, about all she’d done for me, giving me “money, clothes, everything,” and what a pest I’d been, “since the day you were born, bringing me nothing but grief.” And then, “taking off that way, and leaving me that note. I never read such a thing in my life. And on top of that, going to see Ed Vernick and flaunting a mink coat at him. What on earth possessed you?”
“Mother, cool it.”
“...You dare say such a thing to me?”
“I do. Cool it. Knock it off!”
For some moments she didn’t speak, and then in a different, more sensible tone she asked me, “Where are you?”
“I said I prefer not to say.”
“But I have to know, there’s a reason.”
“What reason?”
“One I may have, but don’t yet have.”
“Where I am doesn’t matter, as I’m traveling and first I stop one place, then another. When I’m settled I’ll let you know.”
“Then don’t say you weren’t told.”
“Told what, Mother?”
“The... reason I’ll have for wanting to know where you are. Which I’m not sure of yet but may be sure of later.”
“Then, OK, Mother, I called up to say I’m all right, that you don’t have to turn me in as a missing person or something, and... have you, by the way?”
“No! And after what Ed Vernick told me...”
“Then, don’t. I’m OK.”
“And that’s all you have to say?”
“That’s right. What do you have to say?”
“...That you have all my love.”
“And, Mother, you have mine.”
Suddenly, both of us were crying, but with love mixed in, and then she kept saying, “My love and my prayers, I keep saying them over and over.”
“Then, OK, Mother.”
“OK... OK.”
Then we’d both hung up, and I was standing there in the booth, with an empty, queer feeling, the tears still on my cheeks.
Walking back to the hotel I kept thinking of Rick, how glad I’d be to see him, to be with him, to have him pat my hand and start talking about our island. But in the lobby he wasn’t there. I looked in the dining room, remembering I’d been gone for some time and thinking he might have decided to eat breakfast. But he wasn’t there, and I came back and went to the desk. I asked, “Would you have Mr. Ruth paged? Mr. Richard Ruth, please.”
“Mr. Ruth has checked out. He left.”
“He has what?”
“Checked out. Are you Mrs. Ruth?”
“Yes, I am. Did he leave a message for me?”
“No, Miss. He left this.”
From behind the counter the clerk lifted my suitcase and set it on the desk in front of me. He kept staring in kind of a funny way. I said, “Oh, I see. Thanks.”
“Yes, Miss.”
10
I took the suitcase, but a bellboy grabbed for it, and also for the coat, which I was carrying now, as it was warmer in Savannah than it had been in Baltimore. But I hung on to them both and staggered to a chair, where I sat down real quick, as I had to. I mean I was stunned and might have toppled if I tried to stay on my feet. Because, of course, I knew by now that Rick had played me a trick, sending me down to that drugstore so he could give me the air and skip with all that money. But the jolt wasn’t all. I was hurt too, as at last I’d fallen for him, so I felt warm and close and friendly. On account of all that I sat there quite a few minutes, while the bellboy still stood by and the desk clerk studied me, like wondering what to do in case I became a problem, which I easily could have, as I had no idea what to do next. However, the first thing seemed to be to get on the trail of Rick. So at last I motioned the bellboy and let him take the bag and load me into a cab. I tipped him and told the driver, take me to the bus terminal.