The Journey Prize Stories 27 (2015) - Plot & Excerpts
It scared me a little, seeing his name on the screen like that in the middle of the afternoon. Usually I was the one who made the calls, nearly every evening since my mother passed away three years ago. He only ever phoned when he was upset about something, often late at night when his eighty-year-old mind started playing tricks on him, getting him wound up into thinking that so-and-so was trying to take away the house, or that someone else was siphoning money out of his bank account. And so it naturally fell to me to reassure him, often unconvincingly, that everything was all right, that no one was stealing from him, and that certainly no one was trying to take away the old farmhouse he had built more than forty years ago, the house I’d grown up in and where he continued to live. “What’s wrong?” I said. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “Something’s got to be wrong for me to call?” I leaned back in my chair. “You know what?” he said. “I think I got a girlfriend now.”
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