“Mrs. Morgan, there are questions I want to ask, but I’m afraid they’ll upset you more.”
“Ask, just ask,” she said.
I took in a deep breath, let it out slow, and finally said, “You said prolong. For how long?”
“Five days.”
Shit, I thought. Out loud I said, “Give me an address, phone numbers, and I’ll tell Micah.” I started to promise we’d be there, but I couldn’t promise for him. He’d been estranged from his family for about ten years. Just because I’d have gotten on a plane for my semi-estranged family didn’t mean he’d do the same. I took down all the information as if I were sure of his answer.
“Thank you, thank you so much. I knew it was the right thing to do to call another woman. We manage the men so much more than they think, don’t we?”
“Actually Micah manages me more than the other way around.”
“Oh, is it because you’re police like Rush? Is it more about the badge than being a man?”
“I think so,” I said.
“You’ll bring Micah?”
I didn’t want to lie to her, but I wasn’t sure the absolute truth was anything she could handle; she needed something to hang on to, to look forward to while she sat and watched her ex-husband rot while still alive. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, just thinking it was terrible. I couldn’t leave her to watch it with no hope, so I lied.
“Of course,” I said.
“See, I’m right, you just say you’ll bring him. You manage him more than you think.”
“Maybe so, Mrs. Morgan, maybe so.”
She sounded calmer as she said, “Beatrice, Bea, to my friends. Bring my son home, Anita, please.”
What could I say? “I will . . . Bea.”
I hung up, hoping I hadn’t lied to her.