Tears threaten but don’t come.
My chest burns but is forced to breathe, each inhale hurting more than the one before.
My hands grip the steering wheel as traffic closes me in much like the claustrophobia I feel right now.
The phone rings over my Bluetooth. Again and again. The electronic voice Vince uses for a message speaks. “Vince. I need you to call me. Please. We need to talk.”
I dial the next person I need to speak with. The phone rings. Over and over as my knuckles turn white. “Pick up the phone, Mom. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.”
“This is Cathy. Please leave a message.”
“Mom. Please call me. It’s urgent. He knows about Jagger. He. Knows.” My voice breaks.
And it feels like everything else within me does too.
I dial Vince again.
