Waiting It Out
by Roberta Nolte
She leaned against the refrigerator, arms crossed against her chest, and watched the minute hand as it clicked against the clock face. She tried to remember to breathe. It took effort.
The television was on in the next room. News spots were clamoring that something was wrong at the school. They had spoken with him just last night. He was excited about coming home to this dilapidated trailer for the summer. “Home to the farm…” he’d said. Already a city boy, she knew he had a good heart and realized the sacrifices they had made for him. They’d even bought him a cell phone so they could contact him, or he them.
Panic is a hard emotion to control. Her beating heart beneath her crossed arms raced. There had been a shooting at school and he wasn’t answering his phone. That damn minute ticking against the white face of the clock was going to kill her.
She’d placed the call almost an hour ago.
She started hot water in the sink.
Reaching to fix the curtains, the phone rang. She grabbed the receiver from the wall.