Every morning, for ten days – his slot was ten o’clock – he sat at the kitchen table and waited for the call. He held up the iPad with one hand and pressed the green circle.
The screen this time, the camera – he was looking straight at her face. The mask was off, beside her on the pillow, leaning against her ear.
She was saying something – speaking.
—I – heard – one. Joe.
—Did you? he said.
He seemed to see each word before he heard it.
—At first – I was – afraid – I was pet – rified.
He knew the song.
—‘I Will Survive’, he said.
The words were heavy – she worked hard at pulling them out.
—I – might.
—Jesus – I love you, he said.
Something struck him now, the thought that had been lurking for months.
—Your worms, he said. —You’ve been making them up all the time, haven’t you?
He looked at her mouth on the screen, and waited. It was ages before she answered.
(From the short story, 'Worms'.)
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