Superstition

48

It was only when she asked for change in a magazine store that she realized the man in her office had given her fifty dollars-an act of surprising generosity that she wished she'd thanked him better for. Better still would have been not needing to thank him for anything.

She found a pay phone and tried Ward's number again. Still no reply. Next she phoned the lab. Peggy answered.

“Peggy, it's me-Joanna.”

“Joanna?”

“I wondered if you'd heard from Sam in the last half hour or so.”

“Sam's out right now. Actually I'm not quite sure where he is. Can I give him a message?”

“No, I…tell him I'll call back.”

“All right, Joanna, I'll make a note.”

The way she said “Joanna” didn't sound right. It wasn't the way you'd speak to a friend, or even to anyone you knew. Peggy was using the caller's first name out of politeness, not out of any sense of intimacy. “Joanna” was just a woman on the phone who could have given any name.

Joanna swallowed, forcing herself to accept what she knew was the truth. “You don't know who I am, do you, Peggy?”

“I'm sorry, I'm not sure I can quite place you. Would you like to remind me where we've met?”

“It doesn't matter,” she managed to say, and hung up.

The phone was one of a row in the subway at Columbus Circle. Nobody paid any attention to the woman who stood there with her face in her hands, leaning against the inside wall of the booth as though about to collapse. One or two people glanced her way as they passed, thinking maybe she'd just made a call and received some devastating news-the death of a loved one, perhaps, or the diagnosis of some illness more grave than she'd feared. None of them paused or came over to help. No one chose to get involved.

Joanna fished out some more coins and dialed the number she most feared calling. Her mother answered after three rings with her usual interrogatory “Hello?”

“Mom?”

A pause, then, hesitantly, “Joanna? Is that you?”

Joanna didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until it came out of her in a shuddering sob. “Mom…help me, Mom, I don't know what's happening…you're the only one who knows who I am…I've got to see you…I'm coming out there right now…”

“Who is this?”

The words cut like a knife through her brain. “Mom, you just said…I said ‘Mom’ and you said ‘Joanna’…”

“I said ‘Joanna, is that you?’ But you're not Joanna. Now whoever you are, this is not a very funny joke. Don't call me again.”

She hung up.