Member-only story
Why I Never Answered the Door
Or picked up the phone.
I was walking down the stairs when the phone rang. I picked it up reflexively.
“Hello?” I ventured.
My father appeared in the hallway.
“Is Rafael Andreu there?” a man asked.
I looked up at my father, who was shaking his head and mouthing the word “no.”
“Hello?” the man added.
“No,” I said.
“Are you lying for him? Is he there?!” the man accused.
I looked up at my father, who kept shaking his head.
“No, he’s not here,” I croaked.
“You know, your father is a liar. He can’t keep ignoring his obligations. He can’t avoid us forever.”
I kept quiet.
“Tell him to call Jim back, OK?”
“OK,” I said.
The man hung up. I placed the corded receiver back on its cradle on the telephone stand on the landing at the foot of the stairs.
“Jim said to call him,” I told my dad.
“I told you NEVER to pick up the phone,” my dad barked, his black bushy eyebrows steepled in a warning.
