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“Oh. That,” said Jean-Luc. I heard the door creak a little. He must be leaning against it. I edged away from the door, feeling around in the dark, trying not to knock over any brooms or bottles. As I took a step back and moved my hand up the wall behind me, I felt another latch, and the next thing I knew, I had opened a door into a small room. The closet had two entrances! I peeked in to the other room, feeling like Alice in Wonderland. It was a tidy little room, probably belonging to a housekeeper. Luckily no one was in it. It was nearly dark, with just a sliver of light coming in from a small window in the corner of the room. A television, a vase with wilted flowers, and a few bottles of perfume were on the dresser. Across the room were a chair and lamp beside a bookshelf filled with photos and magazines. And on the nightstand beside the bed, was a telephone.
Without hesitation, I tiptoed across the room, picked up the telephone and called Pete.
Chapter 25
“Hello?”
“Pete! It’s Emma,” I whispered.
“Emma! Emma Van Elson! How are you?”
“…Good. How are you, Pete?” Was it just me, or did he sound… weird? Why was he acting so strange and formal?
“I’m good. Uh, could you hang on for just a second?”
“Sure,” I said.
There was some muffled, scuffling sounds, and static. I stood there in the semi-darkness, watching the door to the broom closet and the main door, waiting for one or the other to spring open, waiting to be caught. The clock began to tick very loudly. Nearly two minutes went by.
“I’m back,” he said eventually.
“Pete, I miss you,” I said.
“Yeah. Me too,” he said.
“How’ve you been?” I asked.
“Oh yeah. Good.”
His answer didn’t really make sense to me, but I was too happy about having the chance to talk to him to let it stop me from barging forward. “Pete! Pete! I can’t believe it’s you. I can’t believe we’re actually talking. Can you believe it? I’m finally alone. I’m never alone. You can’t even imagine,” I said.
“Yeah. When do you think you’re coming home?” He seemed to be whispering. I understood why I was whispering, but why was he whispering?
“I don’t know. This seems like it’s never going to end. Why are you whispering, Pete?”
“Whispering?” he whispered. “I’m not whispering.”
“Is someone there?” I asked.
“No. No way. It’s great to hear from you. So what have you been up to?”
“I’m in Paris.”
“Cool.”
“Uh huh. I guess. Pete, are we still good?”
“Sure we’re good.”
“You aren’t mad that I’m on this show, right?”
“No. It’s, uh… hey…”
His voice trailed off. I thought for a moment that we’d been disconnected, but then I heard a soft thwack and giggling. I pressed the phone closer to my ear and in the background I heard a woman’s voice say “I told you it was gonna hurt!” followed by more giggling and another thwack. Had the wires gotten crossed? Whose conversation was I listening to?
“Hey, uh, are you still there?” Pete asked.
I couldn’t speak for a moment.
