Phone Calls From God
Stephen W. Cote
Copyright Stephen W. Cote 1995
About the Author
Hello and thank you for reading. My name is Stephen W. Cote. I am a Software Engineer and Consultant, a United States Marine, a martial artist, and an author. You can find more information about my early creative writing and ongoing open source projects on whitefrost.com. I enjoy writing hard and whimsical science fiction, adult fantasy, and poetry. As an early advocate of Creative Commons licensing, many of my short stories and poems have been available online since 1996.
If you would like to learn more about my writing, open source projects such as the Hemi JavaScript Framework, or inquire about unpublished manuscripts and shorts, please contact me at whitefrost.com.
Thank you for taking the time to read my work and I hope you enjoy it.
Phone Calls From God
With a saint's absolution and devil's resolve, Christine Wolfe committed herself to finding Tabitha, her youngest daughter, a better fiancé than that Craig Henry. Their first argument involved his rough-necked, sandy brown hair; only to be exchanged for more pressing concerns. In the delirium of a lovers quarrel, Tabitha confided that Craig spent all of his money on electronic gizmos and police paraphernalia. Perhaps commonplace in a detective's office or confiscated from a hoodlum, but completely impractical in her daughter’s home.
Did that Craig arm himself with a college degree? No. Could he even comprehend the instructions for the pieces of electric junk that occupied his every waking hour? Spiritually, that Craig earned an entry on Christine's black list. He wasn’t Catholic, and worse, he wasn’t anything else. She preferred anything else, a Jew or Protestant or Baptist, even an Atheist, to the nothingness inside that Craig. Of course, Pagan spin-offs such as Witchcraft, Satan Worship, or whatever damnation the youths of today broke their mothers’ backs with didn’t qualify.
That Craig distracted Christine from her peace at home. Jeromy, her late and dear husband, provided her with a comfortable home on the outskirts of Redmond, Washington, in unincorporated King County. When she aerobicized with her church group, aptly named The Divine Comment for their conservative views and published criticisms on contemporary censorship of pornography, that Craig flitted through her thoughts. How could she help others with such a distraction?
She flipped through a newspaper insert advertising televisions and felt tempted to buy another one. Anything to take her mind off that Craig. She never regretted donating her last television to Saint Vincent De Paul. Most of the programming had been rubbish, especially when youths spent their time watching sinful shows rather than the 700 Club, as she had done when their age. Could they even read? They never had a decent novel in hand.
Closing the advertisement, she focused instead on her double-barreled firearm, a multi-lined phone. Having spent the morning reading the newspaper over a bagel and an espresso, and reading a few chapters of a good book, she distracted herself from that Craig with the telephone.
Around two thirty, the phone rang and Christine switched the caller over to the speakerphone; the receiver rubbed the plate in her chin fixing her dentures in place. "Christine Wolfe's," she said, smiling, trusting the caller would hear her brightness even though they were unable to see it. "Jesus be with you."
Muffled sobs whispered through a layer of speakerphone static. "Mom," Tabitha's voice pleaded.
"Tabby? Whatever is wrong?" When Tabitha started to explain, Christine’s ears rang. That Craig. What else had her daughter said? "I'm sorry, honey, can you repeat that?"
"He didn't pay the power bill again. They're going to turn off everything tomorrow unless we give them fifty one dollars by ten in the morning."
Christine rolled her eyes and looked at her desktop calendar, counting the days. Sighing, she said, "Let's see. Today's Monday, the ninth. Didn't you get paid Friday, honey? Can you cover it this time?"
"Mom!" Tabitha wailed, "I had to buy groceries and pay the phone bill."
"Why don't you two come over for dinner tonight? I'll write a check and you can pay me back next week. I hope my insurance check or social security check came today. I’ll pray one of them did." Christine tried to put as much sympathy into her voice as she could. That Craig.
"Thanks mom," Tabitha sniffed. "I've gotta go right now, but is five okay?"
"That's fine, honey," Christine smiled to the speaker. "I'll talk with you then and maybe we can straighten that boy of yours out."
The receiver clicked and Christine sat back, rubbing her eyes. She had money in her savings account, but would not have time to finish her calls and fight rush hour traffic to arrive at the bank in time to transfer the funds to her checking account or withdraw any from savings. While gazing at the desk, the telephone rang again, and she answered it on speakerphone.
Before she spoke a proper word of greeting, an eerie voice said, "Both checking deposit statements are in the mail." The receiver clicked.
Christine smiled and stood up, walked to the front door, and only then stopped and glared at the phone. She did not recognize the voice, cool and lustrous, and infused with subtle harmonies. It didn't sound entirely human. And, how did they know her mail arrived and what had been delivered? A prank call. Perhaps Tabitha played a silly game. Such was her special brand of humor.
She walked outside and fetched the mail. The voice had spoken truth. She returned with assorted junk mail and advertisement packs, and the direct deposit statements. She wrote a check for Tabitha, placed it in the table drawer near the front door, and then sat down beside the phone.
For half an hour, she folded her hands, refolded them, and prayed to Jesus. At a quarter past three, the phone rang again. Christine felt her blood curdle when she reached for the speakerphone button. "Christine Wolfe's, Jesus be with you." She held her breath for a period of long silence. Ready to chide the obvious prankster, the caller spoke and a wave of relief passed over her.
"Mom," Tabitha said softly. "Can we make it six? Craig is going to work until six so he can get in more overtime tomorrow."
"That's fine honey. I'll see you at six then." Christine waited for Tabitha to say her goodbye and hang up. Then, she felt an unnerving sensation and stared at the phone. Moments later, it rang. She hesitated before touching the speaker phone button.
"Your daughter must not let her fiancé work late." The voice sounded different this time; hushed and dignified, perhaps with a mild British accent.
"Who is this?" Christine demanded. "I have caller identification and am writing down your number."
"This is a grave matter. Your daughter's fiancé must not work past five." The line went dead.
Christine touched the speakerphone button with a palsied hand and hang up her end. The voice - that seductive, strange, beautiful voice – brought her to prayer. She checked her caller ID box. Blank. Should I call the police? Perhaps it wouldn’t be so terrible, despite their financial crunch, if that Craig didn't work another hour. Besides, she owed him a sound scolding and she decided to call Tabby.
The speed dial rattled off Tabitha's number. Tabitha answered the phone, speaking hurriedly, "Hello? Tabitha speaking."
"Tabby, it's me," Christine said. "I'd sooner have you and that Craig over at five. Father Jay is having dinner with us and I'd rather not have you two walking in an hour late. Do you think that Craig could do that for me, honey?"
Father J. Archibald, a dear friend of the family, had married Christine and Jeromy more than thirty years prior, and baptized Tabitha and her other daughter, five years Tabitha's elder. It was fitting that he also laid Jeromy to his final resting place.
"Mother," Tabitha said, sighing. "I'll call
him. He can work the extra hour tomorrow, but if he isn't able to get his pay tonight, we'll need gas money, too. "
"It's only thirty minutes at most, honey. And you have that economy car." Christine always suspected Tabitha considered her a shrew when it came to money.
"And my economy car is having an economy crisis." Tabitha then said, "Look, I'll call Craig."
"Thanks, honey." Before she hung up the phone, she heard Tabitha chortle in the background.
"And mom?"
"Yes, honey?"
"That gives you two hours to convince Father Jay to change his plans and eat with us."
Christine gaped. "How did you…?"
"Craig saw him today at the market shopping for his famous