Free Rhubarb by M. H. van Keuren Page B

Lewistown?
    She wouldn’t do that. She knows you’ll be coming back to
Brixton.
    You’re right. Everything’s fine.
    Of course I’m right, I’m a smartphone. Now, call her
already. If it gets much later it’ll be creepy. Come on. Pull yourself
together. No excuses.
    Okay. But maybe I should be somewhere else, so it sounds
like I’m having fun.
    You have talked on a cell phone before, right? Fun sounds
are distracting. The only acceptable background noises for this kind of phone
call are ocean surf, you preparing a meal in a noncommercial kitchen, or a
hospital PA paging you to the OR.
    Maybe I should change my shirt. I remember hearing once that
your clothes make a difference in how you sound on the phone.
    Oh, good grief. Are you wearing pants? Then let’s do
this.
    I need to think out what I’m going to say.
    Put the pen down. You are not writing a script. She wants
a confident human being to invite her to an experience that will allow you to
get to know each other as people. Period.
    Confidence. Experience. People. This sounded right. He knew
he needed a smartphone. He took a deep breath and dialed.
    But what if she doesn’t answer? Should I hang up?
    Everyone—and I mean everyone—has Caller ID. If you hang
up, she’ll think you’re a coward, a buttdialer, or that you’ve moved on to the
next number in your disgusting little black book.
    I don’t even have a little black book.
    She won’t know that if she never gets to know you. Now
man up and leave a message at the tone.
     
    ~ * * * ~
     
    “Hi, Cheryl. It’s Martin Wells. I’m coming into Brixton next
Tuesday afternoon. Wanted to see if we could get together that evening. Or the
next. I’ll be working the area through Thursday. If you don’t want to go out in
Brixton, which I would totally understand, I’d be happy to drive us somewhere,
or meet in another town. Let me know. My number is 406-555-6871. Look forward
to hearing from you. Oh, and I have your pie plate. I’ll bring it with me.”
     
    ~ * * * ~
     
    “Hello, Cheryl. I left you a message a couple of days ago.
I’m still planning on being in Brixton tomorrow and Wednesday nights. And
bringing your pie plate. Thanks again for that, by the way. It was really good.
Anyway, give me a call. 555-6871.”
     
    ~ * * * ~
     
    Martin yanked back the shower curtain and lunged, splashing
water across the bathroom, but found his phone inert, and now lathered. He’d
been hearing phantom rings all day.
    Would he really have answered the phone naked, with the
shower still running? He rinsed the soap out of his hair. He feared that if the
phone rang for real, he might not have the will to stop himself. Yep, that’s my
only fear, he thought. Nothing else to fear.
     
    ~ * * * ~
     
    “We’re back with Asmir Falenta, journalist, amateur pilot,
and the author of ‘The Disappearance of the Bermuda Triangle,’ the lead article
in the May issue of Awake , the official magazine of Beyond Insomnia .
Subscription and membership information on wakernation.com. Now, Asmir, for
this article, you flew your plane around and through the Triangle itself. Were
you ever afraid?”
    “How could I not be, Lee? The documented accounts, Coast
Guard records, and the Lloyd’s of London registers make clear that something
happens in the Triangle. The majority of these incidents are much odder, much
stranger, than other losses at sea. Sudden mechanical or instrument failure,
unusual radio communication interference, and changes in temporal
perspectives—there are just some things you can’t prepare for.”
    “Now, you spoke to dockmasters, air-traffic controllers,
fishermen, a Coast Guard crew, even a DEA interdiction officer. According to
the people on the ground, those who deal with it on a daily basis, are there
fewer unexplained disappearances or events in the Triangle today than there
have been in the past?”
    “We’ve been documenting travel in the Triangle since
Columbus. So as a journalist, I wondered