When Bram offered the coins again, I asked how much he could spare without inconveniencing himself. It was a stiff question, but better than another refusal. He counted a modest amount into his palm and named it. I repeated the amount, took his pencil, and wrote the debt beneath the record of my call.
"You don't need a ledger," he said.
"I do."
"All right, then." He did not argue me out of the one condition that made accepting possible. I wrote his full name, Bram Keene, and asked where I could send repayment if we parted before I had change. He supplied a mailing address, which I copied carefully onto the folded newspaper margin he tore off for me.
I put that paper inside my wallet rather than with the receipt. I wanted the debt separate from the problem that had caused it. Bram had lent me coins, not agreed to sponsor the rest of my life.
At the telephone, I had to wait behind a man searching for a number in a small black book. I watched his thumb move down the page and thought of my own book upstairs. The envy passed. I could borrow money; I could not borrow the information in somebody else's address book.
Nolan answered this time before I finished counting rings. "Mother? I got your message."
Hearing him alive at the other end made me want to pour out everything at once. I started with the evacuation, then the missing suitcase, then the entrance where Tessa might be waiting. He interrupted gently enough that I could hear he was making an effort.
"Are you still at the place you named?"
"Yes. Outside the closed area. They directed us here."
"And you're all right?"
"Yes." It was the first question I could answer without explaining. I let the answer stand.
He said Tessa had not contacted him. He had been out when I called and had only just heard the recording. That meant his silence contained no warning I had failed to decode. It meant he had not been there.
"Then call her," I said. "You have her number."
"I will. But don't call again while I'm trying, or you may just get the busy signal."
I tightened my hand around the receiver. There were useful things he could do, and calling me was not one of them. I was standing at a public phone with a line forming behind me. The arrangement I wanted—Nolan available whenever fear struck—would keep him from reaching the person we both needed.
"What time should I ring?" I asked.
We agreed on a fixed time later that evening. I repeated it, checking the clock visible from the alcove rather than relying on the watch I had left beside my bed. He would telephone Tessa and then remain near his own phone for my next call. If he failed to reach her, he would tell me that plainly.
"Don't say she's probably fine if you don't know," I said.
"I won't. And don't go looking around the closed entrance. Tell me you're not doing that."
"I'm not." I looked at my written message. "I already asked where I could safely wait."
He breathed out. I could hear it, a tired sound that reminded me he was my son and not a switchboard. I thanked him before giving him the location once more. This time repetition was for accuracy, not because I doubted his care.
When I returned, Bram had moved his chair slightly to let someone pass. He looked ready to ask, but waited while I wrote the agreed time. Nolan would call Tessa. I would call Nolan. Two tasks, in that order.
"You reached him?" Bram said.
"Yes. He hasn't heard from her. He's trying now." I handed back the pencil. "I'm to wait until this time."
Bram read the figure without commenting on how far away it seemed. He asked if I wanted something to eat before then. I nearly said I couldn't, as though hunger would prove the seriousness of my concern. Instead I asked what was available that didn't cost much. Waiting had acquired a shape, and there was room inside it for a meal.