She grabbed her black leather jacket and damned her shoe laces as she walked down the sidewalk. Ed would be open.
“Hey–can I use the phone real quick?” Franny pointed to the ancient red rotary phone behind the bar.
Ed wiped his glasses on his shirt. “Not for customers.”
“Aw, come on, Ed–” She was pale and sober in the harsh bar light. “I need to call my Ma.”
He held his glasses up to the dangling light-bulb above him. “Fine. Five minutes.”
He slid a beer down to her open hand as Franny dialed her mother.
“Hello?” Her mother whispered, half-choking.
“Mother, what is this nonsense?” Franny held herself straight, smarter, taller. She lit a cigarette.
“It’s on the board.”
Pushing her weight against the counter, Franny looked down at her hands. Her blue nail-polish was chipped.
“The board is a scam, Ma. There is no way anyone could know the actual date–”
Ed shifted his feet behind the bar, folding a rag carefully.
Her mother was breathing heavily. “They know. It’s there. Phil Harmon–his date was right and now he’s–he’s–
and Suzy Garmand down the street–her mother’s friend’s sister’s date was right.”
“Phil was an alcoholic,” Franny flatly replied. “And Suzy Garmand is being dramatic.”
A long silence held the gap. Franny knew her mother was struggling against a tidal wave of emotion, trying to
make her mouth form words. She did this.
“Mum? You know I love you.”
Her mother choked.
“Mum? Can we talk about this later, when you have your shit together?”
Franny tried to bite the words back, but it was too late. Her mother sobbed harder.
“Hey, maybe I can drop by after work–I love you–”
The phone line went dead. Franny slapped a five on the counter. “Thanks, Ed–”
He waved a hand as she swung out the door.
Sarah Farnham 