Four -- Theatrical Muse

"It's been four days Fred," the voice scolded through the line. "Isn't there a way you could have found a way to your phone before now? You know how your father carries on, worrying so."

Fred twirled the winding cord of the phone around her foot, watching the loops as they caught around her ankle.

"You mean how you both worry Mama," she countered, distance making a certain amount of directness easier. "Sometimes I think it must've been a part of your vows. In sickness and in health, for better or for worse, for worrying, and worrying more."

"Winifred," the word cut through the distance. "That just plain on isn't nice."

Immediately she felt guilty. She was tired, and she didn't know how to say that without it sounding less or more than it was. For a girl that told her parents everything, sometimes some of their conversations held a whole lot of nothing. And she had a lot of work to do, including a paper that was due in just two days.

"I'm sorry," Fred offered, meaning it. Even if she didn't really understand why this conversation was so much harder than in should be. "Is daddy even around?"

"He's out mowing the yard. Do you want me to call him in?"

Fred shook her head, as if there was a chance it could be seen all the way in Texas.

"No, that's ok. I have a shift at the library in just an hour or so, so I should start getting over there. I saw the sorting cart last night, it's gonna be a long one."

Some of the books she hadn't even recognized, and Fred prided herself on being pretty well acquainted with a lot of the books there. She played with the chain of her necklace, through her distractions.

"I just call tomorrow, ok?"

There was a hiccup of silence.

"Just don't forget. If I tell him you're calling, he'll keep near that phone all day."

"I won't," the words came easy.

"I promise."