Free Call My Name by Barbara Delinsky

Drew Charles, she showered, breakfasted, then, dressed in a halter top and shorts, made her way to the garden to work off her distress in the cool clumps of moist earth to be overturned. The spring air held a lingering chill. Gradually, with the vehemence of her work, her goose-bumps disappeared as did the worst of her temper. In an instant of renewal she pushed all thought of the senator from her mind, forcing attention to the more urgent matters facing her on Monday. In this she was only partly successful. For, with the predictability of a pre-set alarm, the phone rang promptly at ten.
    A wan smile broke at the corners of her mouth. Every Sunday morning it came, as sure as the fist-thick wad of Hartford Courant atop her doorstep. In anticipation she had plugged in the patio extension. Now, soil-dusted bare feet covered the smooth flagstone to answer the shrill ring that contrasted so sharply with the sweet song of the red-winged blackbird whose serenade it had interrupted.
    “Hello?” She could have as easily begun with a simple “Yes, Mother,” for all the question there was as to the caller. When the deeply mature female voice filtered back across the miles to her, she smiled more broadly. Despite the many differences she had had with her mother over the years, her affection was undeniable.
    “Daran, sweetheart! How are you?” Mary Abbott missed her only child. And, seasoned as she was at disguising her emotions, the subtle lilt in her voice—though it rarely lasted past the initial interchange between the two—was a giveaway.
    “I’m fine, Mother. And you?”
    “Not bad, for an old lady,” she quipped in usual form. For a woman of just fifty, she was as young and energetic as they came.
    As always, and as was expected, Daran rebuked her. “Mother, you are certainly not an old lady.” Then, with the dutiful response having been offered, she went on. “How is Hugh?”
    “Busy, as always. But, Daran—” her mother broke quickly into what must have been uppermost in her mind, idle greeting having now been forsaken “—it sounds as though you are the one who is really busy. Muriel sent us the clippings from the Courant.” Thank you, Muriel Baker , Daran mused in silent sarcasm. “You are getting quite some attention there. I hadn’t realized you were as involved in the case of children’s rights.”
    Calmly and deliberately Daran answered her. “It’s my line of work, Mother. The Child Advocacy Project has begun to attract a following. We’ve just gotten two grants, one from the state, one from a private foundation. It’s only natural that the papers should pay us more heed.”
    “But, you . You are their spokeswoman, Daran,” the older woman persisted. “The articles portray you well. I knew you couldn’t stay out of the fray for long!” It was, on the surface, an innocent statement. Yet the pain of its implication dug into her daughter sharply.
    Denial quickly followed the sigh of exasperation on Daran’s lips. “Don’t be silly, Mother.” Her exaggeration of the appellation told of her impatience. Sinking with a tired slump into a nearby deck chair, she elaborated. “I’ve never been involved in anything like this before. It was never my name that reached the papers.”
    “But you were by his side, supporting him.” The soft excitement in her mother’s voice hardened Daran even more.
    Her grimace shaped her words. “You’ve got it all wrong.”
    “You know, dear—” the other voice lowered slightly “—Hugh is still hoping that you and Bill will get back together. It wasn’t all that bad, was it?”
    That her own mother remained indifferent to the full extent of the suffering her daughter had endured was a great irritant. “It was a hell I hope never to repeat, Mother. I’ll be very happy if I never see Bill again.” Wasn’t that a major reason for shunning Washington? “Listen,” she began, struggling for evenness, “I love Hugh. He has been a wonderful husband to