“Nonsense,” Grace countered. “One phone call isn’t going to make a bit of difference to our bill.”
“Thank you.” Still wearing her coat, Mary Jo went over to the wall phone, then remembered that Linc’s number was programmed into her cell. Speed dial made it unnecessary to memorize numbers these days, she thought ruefully.
She’d have to go back to the apartment a second time. Well, there was no help for that, either. “I’ll need to get my cell phone,” she said.
“I can have Cliff get it for you,” Grace offered. “I’m not sure you should be climbing those stairs too often.”
“Oh, no, I’m fine,” Mary Jo assured her. She walked across the yard, grateful the snow had tapered off, and back up the steep flight of stairs, pausing as she had before to inhale deeply and calm her racing heart. Taking another breath, she went in search of her cell.
On the off chance the phone might work in a different location, Mary Jo stood on the Hardings’ porch and tried again. And again she received the same message. No coverage.
Cell phone in hand, she returned to the kitchen.
“I’ll make the call as quickly as I can,” she told Grace, lifting the receiver.
“You talk as long as you need,” Grace said. “And here, let me take your coat.”
She found Linc’s contact information in her cell phone directory and dialed his number. After a few seconds, the call connected and went straight to voice mail. Linc, it appeared, had decided to turn off his cell. Mary Jo wasn’t sure what to make of that. Maybe he didn’t want her to contact him, she thought with sudden panic. Maybe he was so angry he never wanted to hear from her again. When she tried to leave a message, she discovered that his voice mail was full. She sighed. It was just like Linc not to listen to his messages. He probably had no idea how many he’d accumulated.
“My brother has his cell off,” Mary Jo said with a defeated shrug.
“He might be in a no-coverage zone,” Grace explained. “We don’t get good reception here at the ranch. Is it worth trying his house?”
Mary Jo doubted it, but she punched in the numbers. As she’d expected, no answer there, either. Her oldest brother’s deep voice came on, reciting the phone number. Then, in his usual peremptory fashion, he said, “We’re not here. Leave a message.” Mary Jo closed her eyes.
“It’s me,” she began shakily, half afraid Linc would break in and start yelling at her. Grace had stepped out of the kitchen to give her privacy, a courtesy she appreciated.
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