“Sally?”
“Yes, Amabel. Oh, goodness, I was nearly asleep. Good night.”
“Yes, good night, baby. Sleep well.”
“All right.”
“Sally, about that phone call-”
She waited, not saying a word.
“Martha could have been mistaken. It’s quite possible. Her hearing isn’t all that good anymore. She’s getting old. It could even have been a man disguising his voice like a woman’s just in case you didn’t answer the phone. I can’t imagine that it could have been Thelma. Baby, nobody knows who you are, nobody.”
Amabel paused. Sally could see her silhouetted in the doorway from the dim light in the corridor. “You know, baby, you’ve been through a lot, too much. You’re frightened. I would be too. Your mind can do funny things to you when you’re frightened. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, I understand that, Amabel.” She wasn’t about to tell Amabel that Thelma knew who she was.
“Good. You try to sleep, baby.” She didn’t come in to kiss her good night, for which Sally was grateful. She lay there, waiting, waiting.
Finally, she slipped out of bed, pulled on her sneakers, picked up her duffel bag, and tiptoed to the window. It slid up easily. She poked her head out and scanned the ground as she’d done earlier. This was the way out. It wasn’t far to the ground, and she knew there was no way she could get down those stairs without Amabel hearing her.
No, she’d be just fine. She climbed out the window and sat on the narrow ledge. She dropped the duffel bag and watched it bounce off the squat, thick bushes below. She drew a deep breath and jumped.
She landed on James Quinlan.
They both went down, James rolling, holding her tight against him.
When they came to a stop, Sally reared up on her hands and stared down at him. There was a half moon, more than enough light to see his face clearly.
“What are you doing here?”
“I knew you’d run after that telephone call.”
She rolled off him and rose, only to collapse again. She’d sprained her damned ankle. She cursed.
He laughed. “That’s not good enough for a girl who didn’t go to finishing school in Switzerland. Don’t you know some down and dirty street curses?”
“Go to hell. I sprained my damned ankle and it’s all your fault. Why couldn’t you just mind your own damned business?”
“I didn’t want you out on the road hitchhiking with some lowlife who could rape you and cut your throat.”
“I thought of that. I’d rather take that risk than stay here. He knows I’m here, James, you know that. I can’t just stay here and wait for him to come and take me. That’s what he said. He said soon he’d be here for me.”
“I was reading a newspaper when Martha came in all worried and told Thelma about a woman calling you, a woman you said wasn’t a woman but your father. She said you were really distressed. She didn’t understand why you’d be so upset to hear from your father. I knew you’d probably try to run, that’s why I’m here, having you crush me into the ground.”
She sat there on the ground next to him, rubbing her ankle, just shaking her head. “I’m not crazy.”
“I know that,” he said patiently. “There’s an explanation. That’s why you’re not going to run away. Now that’s crazy.”
She came up on her knees, leaning toward him, her hands grasping his jacket lapels. “Listen to me, James. It was my father. No fake, no imitation. It was my father. Amabel said it could have been a man disguising his voice
as a woman’s if I hadn’t been the one to answer the phone. Then she turned around and told me how much strain I’d been under. In other words, I’m crazy.”
He took her hands in his, just held them, saying nothing. Then he spoke. “As I said, there’s always an explanation. It probably was a man. We’ll find out. If it wasn’t, if it truly was a woman who asked for you, then we’ll deal with that too. Trust me, Sally.”
She sat back. Her ankle had stopped throbbing. Maybe it wasn’t sprained after all.