Page 48 of Hushed

“Did one of our cousins die?” I guess. I don’t know where Davidson County is.

“No. I’m sorry to break it to you, but your birth mother died two weeks ago. They sent the notification here so I opened it.”

I stare straight ahead into the darkness outside my window. Thunder rattles the panes. “You opened my mail?”

“They say she had a coronary and was buried in a common area,” she continues. Her voice is businesslike.

“You opened my mail?” I repeat.

“You ain’t seen this woman since you was seven years old, Levi. I don’t know why you kept her last name. I shoulda insisted you take ours. I told you she wasn’t coming back for you.”

“You opened my mother’s death certificate?” I repeat. Now I’m loud enough that I break through her litany of complaints. “And you tell me like it’s nothing?”

“She wasn’t nothing to you, Levi. We’re all the family you ever had. The Lord knows I’ve put up with a lot from you and never said a word, but—”

I hang up and it’s all I can do not to throw the phone across the room. Instead, I put it on the desk and numbly put the earbuds back in.

“Our last caller,” Parker Broussard is saying. “Naomi, you’re on the air.”

Last caller. I look at the time on my laptop and out at the rain droplets on my window. And then I stand up and pull on my boots and a jacket, and grab an umbrella at the last second. The elevator is too slow, so I vault down the stairwell, almost colliding with Matt from class and his boyfriend. He looks startled and the boyfriend mutters to Matt, “How is it that you position yourself instinctively so that you’re always in the way?”

Matt shrinks into himself, looking embarrassed.

“Sorry!” I call over my shoulder. “It was my fault.” I rocket out the door at the bottom of the stairwell before they can respond.

It’s late evening, and the rain has chased everybody inside. I cut through campus at a good solid double time, not bothering to open the umbrella. It’ll only slow me down, and the window to catch him leaving the radio station office is narrow.

There’s already a man waiting outside the WFVN radio building, sheltering under a black umbrella. He glances over at me and scans me up and down before turning his attention back to the lighted front of the radio building.

I stop and scan the area reflexively as I open my umbrella. When I look back at the other man, he’s got a ghost of a smile on his face.

“What?” I ask.

He glances over his shoulder at me. “My husband made me throw my combat boots away. I was just thinking about how I missed them.”

I look down at mine. “They’re so comfortable, though.”

“They are. Mine had seen two tours and frankly, you could tell.”

“Fair enough.” I turn back to the building.

“You almost forgot to pick him up, didn’t you?” the man asks. “I know a good run in the rain when I see it.” He laughs.

“Guilty.”

“What do you want to bet neither of the people we’re waiting for brought an umbrella?” he asks.

I think about it. “It’s about fifty-fifty on mine.” In truth, it’s a guess, but the thrill of saying mine in reference to Bastien is intense.

He takes out his phone and glances at it. “Well, we’ll find out soon enough. Parker should be signing off right about now.”

We lapse into silence, staring expectantly at the empty reception area. I watch as Bastien comes down the hall, talking to a brown-haired young man who is gesturing excitedly. We watch in silence as the brown-haired man turns off the lights and arms the security system before opening the door.

“You should consider it,” the man is saying. I can recognize his voice from the radio: this must be Parker.

“I think I’ll be a flash in the pan.”

“You will if you keep concentrating on advice to veterans. But you have a good touch with people. It comes through. An advice program would also handle those pesky service hours.” He looks over his shoulder. “Honey, you didn’t have to come all this way!” He finishes locking the door and dashes out to stand under the umbrella.