Page 47 of Jonesing for a Spy

“Since they were probably scared.”

“What?” Surprise laces his tone.

“I can only guess, but if they were trying to make sure you weren’t afraid, they must’ve been, must’ve wanted very much for you not to worry the way they were.”

“That’s—” He pauses for a moment. “I guess that’s a possibility. I’ve never considered it.”

“It’s a guess, but I think we always protect people from what we’re afraid of, not what they might be.”

“But they lied. Repeatedly. For years, Mirren.”

“What’s it called?”

“Autoimmune Hemolytic Anemia.”

That’s not good.

“I can’t abide liars,” he says firmly but quietly through the phone.

“I understand. I’m sorry. I was being casual and flippant, not trying to deceive you.”

“Right.”

Whoa! Whoa whoa whoa. “All due respect, I apologized. I don’t need a lecture or a lesson.”

“Okay.”

With nothing more than that, he disconnects the call.

Ass!

Strider

Hitting dial, I prepare for call number two. Maybe this one will be better. Call me crazy but that convo was shit from start to finish. Let’s start again.

I get voicemail. Dialing again, I get the same result.

Fuck!

Answer the phone, Freckles.

Mirren

Don’t call me that.

Answer the phone.

No. I tell you what you don’t want to hear and you hang up? Screw that.

Boy, I fucked up.

Baby, I was starting our conversation over. No lies. No big reveals around diseases. No anger.

Yeah, the no anger part was a fail. You’re pissed, and so am I.

What do you have to be pissed about?

Pissed at myself, not you.