Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Warm fingers brush across my hand, and cold metal presses into my palm. Startled, I open my eyes and look at the phone Peter just handed to me.
He must’ve picked it up from where I dropped it.
“If you want to call your parents, you might want to do so now,” he says softly. “Before they hear anything on their own.”
I swallow, staring at the phone in my hand. Peter is right; there’s no time to waste. I don’t know what I’m going to tell my parents, but anything is better than what the FBI agents are likely to say.
“How do I call?” I glance at Peter. “Is there some special code or anything I need to use?”
“No. All my calls are automatically encoded. Just put in their number as usual.”
I take a deep breath and punch in my mom’s cell. She’s more likely to panic at getting a call in the middle of the night, but she’s nine years younger than my dad and has no known heart problems. Holding the phone up to my ear, I turn away from Peter and watch the night sky through the window as I wait for the call to connect.
It rings a dozen times before going to voicemail.
Mom must be sleeping too deeply to hear it, or else she has the phone turned off for the night.
Frustrated, I try again.
“Hello?” Mom’s voice is sleepy and disgruntled. “Who is this?”
I exhale in relief. It doesn’t sound like the FBI got to them yet; if they had, Mom wouldn’t be sleeping so soundly.
“Hi, Mom. It’s me, Sara.”
“Sara?” Mom instantly sounds more alert. “What’s wrong? Where are you calling from? Did something happen?”
“No, no. Everything is fine. I’m perfectly fine.” I take a breath, my mind racing as I try to come up with the least worrisome story. At some point soon, the FBI will contact my parents, and my story will be exposed for a lie. However, the very fact that I called and told such a story should reassure my parents that, at the time of the call at least, I was alive and well, lessening the impact of whatever the agents will tell them.
Steadying my voice, I say, “Sorry to call so late, Mom, but I’m going on a last-minute trip, and I wanted to let you know, so you wouldn’t worry.”
“A trip?” Mom sounds confused. “Where? Why?”
“Well…” I hesitate and then decide to go with Peter’s suggestion. This way, when my parents learn of the kidnapping, they might think I went with Peter of my own free will. What the FBI will think is another matter, but I’ll save that worry for a different day. “I met someone. A man.”
“A man?”
“Yes, I’ve been seeing him for a few weeks. I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t know that much about him, and I wasn’t sure how serious it was.” I can sense Mom is about to launch into an interrogation, so I quickly say, “In any case, he had to go out of the country unexpectedly, and he invited me to come along. I know it’s completely crazy, but I needed to get away—you know, from everything—and this seemed as good of an opportunity as any. We’re going to be traveling the world together for a few weeks, so—”
“What?” Mom’s voice rises in pitch. “Sara, that’s—”
“Insane? I know.” I grimace, grateful she can’t see my pained expression. Between lying to her and the continued headache, I feel like absolute shit. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t want you to worry, but it’s something I had to do. I hope you and Dad understand.”
“Wait a minute. Who is this man? What is his name? What does he do? Where did you meet?” She fires off each question like a bullet.
I turn to look at Peter, and he gives me a small nod, his face impassive. I don’t know if he can hear my conversation, but I interpret that nod to mean I can tell my parents a few more details.
“His name is Peter,” I say, deciding to stay as close to the truth as possible. “He’s a contractor of sorts, works mostly abroad. We met when he was in the Chicago area, and we’ve been seeing each other ever since. I wanted to tell you about him at our sushi lunch, but it didn’t seem like the right time.”
“Okay, but… but what about your work? And the clinic?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’ll get it all settled, don’t worry.” I won’t, of course—this kind of bullshit won’t fly with my hospital-based practice even if Peter lets me call them—but I can’t tell Mom that without making her worry prematurely. She’ll have a panic attack soon enough, when the agents show up on her doorstep. Until then, she and Dad might as well think I’ve gone crazy.