Chapter 13 - Eleven Missed Calls on Speaker
The phone buzzed against the deck rail and we all just stared at it like it was something live.
It was the same black case, chipped at the corner where I'd dropped it in the diner parking lot the night before. Mom flashed across the screen again. Not Missed Calls: Mom (11) anymore. Just Mom, calling a twelfth time, right in the middle of the standoff.
Carol stood three feet from me with her arms crossed over that green floral dress, her mouth set. Leo was behind me on the steps, his sneakers tucked under him, his white shirt with the thin stripes wrinkled from the car seat. He had his hands in his lap. He was watching.
I picked up the phone before I could talk myself out of it. My thumb hovered over Answer, then over Speaker. I pressed both.
"Mom?" I said. "You're on speaker. I'm at Carol's. On the deck."
There was a breath on the other end, quick and wet. "Jenna — thank God. Thank God you picked up. I've been calling and calling."
"I saw," I said. "Eleven times."
Carol shifted her weight. She didn't look at the phone. She looked past it, toward the yard, like she wanted to be anywhere else.
"I didn't mean to scare you," Mom said fast. "I just — Colleen sent me that video from yesterday. From the barbecue. Somebody was filming Leo."
My stomach dropped. I felt Leo move a little closer behind me.
"What video?" I asked.
"Just a little clip. He had his hand up," Mom said, and her voice cracked. "He was crying for those fries, honey. And everybody was laughing. Carol was just standing there holding the plate."
Carol finally looked down. "It wasn't like that," she said, low.
"It was exactly like that," Mom said. She must have heard Carol, because her tone sharpened. "I saw his face, Carol. I saw my grandson crying while you turned away with that plate."
I sat down on the top step so I was level with Leo. He leaned his shoulder into my side. His hair smelled like sunscreen and the diner. I put my arm around him and kept the phone out where he could hear if he wanted, but not too close.
"Mom," I said, "tell me why you kept calling. Not texting. Calling."
"Because I panicked," she said. "Plain and simple. I saw that video last night and I called you, and you didn't answer, and then I called Carol to tell her she'd gone too far, and she didn't answer either. So I just kept calling you. I thought — what if you'd seen it too and you were driving upset? What if Leo was still crying?"
I glanced at Carol. Her cheeks had gone pink.
"You called to warn her?" I asked.
"I called to tell her she was wrong," Mom said. "I told her on the voicemail. Didn't you listen to any of them, Jenna?"
"No," I said honestly. "I saw eleven missed calls and I froze. We were at the diner. Rosa had just brought Leo the red basket of fries and he'd finally stopped shaking. I couldn't bring myself to press play."
There was a long quiet. Somewhere down the street a lawn mower started up. A screen door slammed at the neighbor's.
"Mom," I said, and I kept my voice steady because Leo was listening, "can I ask you something? If you saw how bad it was on a ten-second video, why did everybody who was actually standing here just laugh?"
Mom didn't answer right away. I could hear her breathing.
"I don't know," she said finally. "I wish I knew. Colleen told me people got uncomfortable and laughed instead of saying anything. That's no excuse. I told her that too."
Colleen's name hung there. I hadn't seen her car in the driveway, but Mom said Colleen like she was in the room with her.
"Is Colleen with you?" I asked.
"She's here," Mom said. "She came over last night after she texted you. She felt awful she didn't step in."
Carol let out a short breath through her nose. "So this is a pile-on now? You, Colleen, on speakerphone in my backyard?"
"No," Mom said. "This is me telling my daughter I should have said something yesterday instead of just blowing up her phone last night. Jenna, I'm on your side on this. What happened to Leo wasn't okay."
I felt Leo's fingers tighten on my sleeve. He wasn't looking at Carol now. He was looking at the phone, like he was trying to figure out where Grandma's voice was coming from.
May you like
Carol opened her mouth, then closed it. She pressed her lips together and looked at Leo for a half-second — really looked — and then looked away toward the grill, silent.
That silence was louder than anything else. Mom stayed on the line, breathing. Leo stayed tucked against me. I didn't end the call. I didn't know yet what Carol would do with the quiet she'd just been left in.
