Page 14 of The Accidental Text

I look up again at my dresser. My mom’s dark wood jewelrybox is sitting on the top. We all got to take something after she died. Something to have that was hers. I chose the jewelry box because she’s had it since I was young. It’s scratched and well used, but every time I look at it, it reminds me of her. It’s also where my necklace, the one with her initial, currently hangs.

I take a few cleansing breaths, using the jewelry box as a focal point. There’s clearly been a mistake.

I pull up my dad’s number and call him.

“Magpie,” he says when he answers.

“Did you end Mom’s phone contract?” I begin with no preamble. I don’t have time for small talk.

There’s silence on the end of the line.

“Dad?”

“I’m here,” he says.

“Did you get rid of Mom’s phone number?” I ask again, with an unmistakable accusatory note in my voice.

“I did,” he says on a breath. “It … it was a waste, Mags. There was no reason to keep it.”

“Dad!”

“I’m sorry.”

“I asked you to keep it.” I feel tears prick my eyes.

“Why did you want to keep it so badly?”

There’s too much to explain and, honestly, I don’t want to tell him right now. I may never want to tell him.

“It’s … nothing. When?”

“When?”

“When did you get rid of it?”

Silence again.

“Dad?”

“Um …” I can see him in my head, rubbing his chin the way he does when he’s been caught.

“Dad?”

“About three months ago,” he says.

I let out a gasp, throwing my phone on my bed again.

I can hear him saying my name, his voice sounding tiny and far away.

Damage control.Must do damage control.

I pick my phone back up and hear him say, “How did you find out?”

“I called it. To hear her voicemail.” The lie rolls off my tongue.

I hadn’t actually done that yet, because hearing her voice felt like too much. I have a bunch of her voice mails saved for a rainy day but haven’t been able to bring myself to listen to any.

My dad takes a breath. “Oh, Magpie,” he says, his voice cracking just slightly.

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