Maybe subconsciously I wanted to see if I could connect with him at this other number, too, after the failed first attempt in the toilet stall. “Anderson and Partners, Attorneys-at-Law. May I help you?” It was the same Southern woman’s voice. Probably Martha, the secretary Sarah had mentioned. “I’d like to speak with Mr. Jackson Anderson, please.” “May I know who’s calling?” What if Jackson had given me his private line for a reason? Maybe he didn’t want anyone, not even Southern -belle Martha, to know he’d contacted me. Would I get into trouble if I left my name? “Can I just speak with him?” Of course, they’d have my cell phone number now, what with caller ID. “Hon, this is a law-yer’s office.” Martha’s drawl conjured pictures of Scarlett O’Hara dressed in her voluminous ball gowns as in Gone With The Wind. “If you want ta speak ta a law-yer, you’d need ta at least share your name.” She sounded impatient, despite the drawl. I hung up the phone.
