MASON FINALLY CALLS
Mason called nineteen minutes too late.
Avery sat in the back of her father’s car wrapped in his suit jacket, her feet resting on a clean towel the driver had placed on the floor. Graham sat beside her. His attorney stood outside under the umbrella, speaking into a phone.
Avery’s own phone had finally been returned by a trembling housekeeper.
The screen lit up.
Mason.
Avery stared at the name until Graham gently said, “You don’t have to answer.”
“I know.”
But she did.
Mason’s voice came through rushed and irritated.
“Avery, what did you do? My mother said you made a scene and left.”
Avery closed her eyes.
Even now.
Even after everything.
He had called to ask what she had done.
“I didn’t leave,” she said. “They put me out.”
A pause.
“What?”
“Your mother took my shoes. Your father tried to make me sign separation papers. They put me outside in the rain in front of your guests.”
“That doesn’t sound like them.”
Avery opened her eyes.
And something inside her finally stopped reaching for him.
“Then you don’t know them.”
Mason exhaled sharply. “Where are you?”
“With my father.”
Another pause.
Longer this time.
“Your father?”
Graham held out his hand.
Avery gave him the phone.
“Mr. Whitmore,” Graham said, calm as winter. “This is Graham Caldwell.”
The silence on the other end was almost satisfying.
Graham continued.
“My daughter will not return tonight. Your family will communicate through counsel. And Mason?”
“Yes, sir?” Mason said, suddenly smaller.
May you like
“If you ever ask what she did before asking if she’s safe again, do not call her my daughter’s husband.”
Then Graham ended the call.
