In her panic, Annie forgot how to breathe, and those few moments of stunned silence cost her. She followed him through the dancing couples, calling his name. The front door stood open, the porch light on. She hugged herself against the cold February wind as she peered out the door. Stumbling down the steps, she stopped at the sidewalk, looking frantically in both directions to see which way to run, but there was no sign of him. He was gone. Annie sat on the stoop, burying her face in her hands. She gave into her lament with a long, mournful wail that brought both of sisters running. They tried to comfort her, but Annie found no solace in their murmured words, lost in the sudden, unexpected breaking of her heart.
“Annie, I think I got it!” Rebecca announced with a squeal.
Annie pressed the speakerphone button off, picking up the receiver and putting one finger up to her client.
“Yes?” Annie asked, turning her face toward the wall.
“Do you remember Sarah McLean?”
“No. I’m with a client.” Annie smiled an apology over her shoulder at the woman sitting on the tan leather sofa. The black bag she was clutching to her side shook so much with the woman’s anxiety that, when she first came in, Annie had been sure that there was a small dog inside.
“Okay, I’ll talk fast. Sarah McLean is organizing our ten year class reunion and she called me yesterday asking if I had any current numbers for people. Can you believe it’s been ten years since I graduated-?”
“Rebecca!”
“Yeah, yeah. So anyway, I was looking through my book, and I remembered who Eric was. He was that hot guy who moved to our school in my senior year, remember? My god, if he aged well, you’re right, he’s gorgeous!”
“Rebecca!”
“Yeah, okay. Anyway, I forgot that I had called Eric’s mom the week of the Valentine’s party, asking if she had a new number for him. He’s your Eric, Annie.
I’m sure of it!”
Annie’s brow knitted, and she grabbed a pen. “Give me a number.”
“Now, remember, this is his mother. But I’m sure she can tell you his new number. I know I wrote it down once because I called and left him a message inviting him to the party, but I don’t seem to have it in my book-”
“Number, please,” Annie reminded her.
Rebecca rattled it off.
“Her name?”
“Gosh, I don’t remember. His last name is Desiree, but I don’t know if they’re the same.”
“Okay, thanks, I’ll call you back.” Replacing the receiver, Annie faced her client. “I apologize for the interruption. Please continue.” The slight woman moved her purse to her lap, as if it was a shield, and began talking again in a small, quivering voice. Annie nodded, picked up her notepad again and scribbled as she listened. Her pen circled the number in the margin twice, and her brow knitted again, her lips pressing together.
Eric. She could still feel the disappointment of her error like a weight compressing her soul. She saw him in her darkest moments-his beautiful, crestfallen face-and his sad, betrayed look just before he had disappeared.
Annie wrote down “severe anx/neurosis, further testing req” at the end of her notes. The client had stopped speaking and was looking at her expectantly.
“How does that make you feel?” Annie asked, and when the woman spoke again, her words droned with a troubled, rising buzz.
Annie often believed she could diagnose from tone alone. Her thoughts wandered again, and she remembered back in February, the secret feeling of sitting with Eric in the darkness under her sister’s kitchen table, how much they had learned about each other in that short hour together. Probably more than she had ever learned about any client in a fifty minute session.
“Well, our time is up,” Annie said, sensing a pause. “Is there anything else you wanted to address today?”
Her client stood, still clutching her bag in her fists. “No. Thank you, Dr.
Thanos.”
“I’ll see you next week.” When Annie shut the door behind her and leaned against it with a sigh, she consoled herself that she had spent at least most of the hour being attentive to her work. She rubbed her eyes, sitting in her rolling chair and pulling it up to the computer so she could type in her notes. The number stared back at her-circled twice.
Before she knew it, the phone was in her hand. She punched the buttons with her pen, hesitating before pressing the last one. Do I really want to do this?
Her stomach lurched, and she reached for one of the Saltines she kept hidden behind the Kleenex box, stuffing it into her mouth and pressing her pen down on the last number.
It rang nine times before someone answered. She counted, having resigned herself at ring six to give up at ring ten. Unfortunately, it was just a machine finally kicking in.
“Hello, darlings, this is Dita. You know what to do.” BEEP.
Annie swallowed her cracker dry. “Hi there. I am calling for the reunion committee for the Class of 1996, and I’m looking for a current number for Eric Desiree.” She left her name and number on the machine and hung up.
