In A Country Of Mothers

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Jody was already dialing when Harry came up from behind and put his fat thumb down on the hook, disconnecting her.

“No spy reports,” he said.

“I was making a shrink appointment. You’re driving me crazy.”

“I’m flattered,” Harry said, plucking the quarter from the coin return, dropping it into her open palm. “Try again.”

Once more Jody put the quarter in and dialed. She turned to face Harry. The short metal phone cord pulled close against her throat. Later, she would notice it had left a thick red mark like a scar across her neck, as though someone had tried to strangle her. But then, waiting for the call to go through, she ignored the pressure at her throat and fixed on Harry. Fat, swollen up like a dead whale, Harry’s stomach started at his collar and went down to his knees, jutting out in front of him in one solid lump. His thick, pink lips were pulled down by age and too many years of pretending to pout. She imagined his skin was cold and clammy to the touch.

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