Chapter 4 - The Phone Call
At 9:30 PM, as Eleanor was reading in bed, her landline telephone on the nightstand rang. Very few people had her landline number anymore—mostly medical offices, old friends, and Linda.
Eleanor picked up the receiver. "Hello?"
"Eleanor."
The voice on the other end was raspy, heavy with the artificial strain of someone trying very hard to sound broken. It was Linda.
"Hello, Linda," Eleanor said evenly.
"I’m calling because... because my daughter is downstairs in tears, Eleanor," Linda began, her tone a calculated mix of tragic sorrow and subtle accusation. "She tells me you gave them a notice to leave. Eleanor, how could you? Andrew is your only son."
"Linda, I understand you are going through a difficult time with your business," Eleanor replied, keeping her voice completely level. "But what happens in my home between my son, my daughter-in-law, and me is a private matter."
"Private?" Linda let out a breathy, pathetic laugh. "Eleanor, my daughter was trying to save my life! I am sixty-two years old! I have diabetes, my salon is failing, and I am staring down bankruptcy! Rebecca came to you out of love—out of absolute desperation—to ask if you could help us find a solution!"
"Linda," Eleanor interrupted firmly. "Rebecca did not ask for help. She slammed thousands of dollars of your personal and business debts onto my kitchen counter and ordered me to sell my home."
There was a brief pause on the line before Linda spoke again, her voice losing a fraction of its pathetic edge and sharpening into something much nastier.
"Well... you have a massive house, Eleanor! You live in a five-bedroom home all by yourself! What does one woman need with all that space? My salon is my livelihood! If I lose it, I lose everything! You have hundreds of thousands of dollars sitting in equity that you aren't even using! Is a house full of dust and old memories really more important to you than my survival? Than your son's happiness?"
Eleanor felt a surge of righteous indignation, but she controlled her breathing.
"Linda," Eleanor said slowly, letting every word sink in. "Thirty years ago, when Robert and I bought this house, we worked two jobs each. When interest rates spiked, we didn't go on vacations. We didn't buy new cars. We sacrificed every luxury to ensure our mortgage was paid and our son had a stable future. Where were you thirty years ago?"
Linda gasped sharply. "How dare you—"
"You took out risky business loans, Linda. You used credit cards to fund a lifestyle your salon couldn't support. I am truly sorry that you are in a financial crisis, but your choices were yours to make. I did not sign those loan documents. I did not run your business. And I will not sell the roof over my head to fix your mistakes."
"You are a selfish, cold woman!" Linda spat, abandoning all pretense of tragic suffering. "You sit up there in your high tower judging everyone else! Andrew deserves a mother who actually cares about his future! Do you know what people are going to say about you when they find out you put your own son on the street to protect your greed?"
"People will say whatever version of the story they are fed, Linda," Eleanor replied coolly. "Luckily for me, I have always preferred facts over fiction."
"We are going to that dinner on Sunday," Linda threatened, her voice shaking with rage. "Rebecca and Andrew and I. The whole family is going to be there. And everyone is going to see exactly what kind of monster you really are."
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"I look forward to seeing you there, Linda," Eleanor said softly. "Get some sleep. You sound exhausted."
Eleanor hung up the receiver, set it back on the base, and lay back against her pillows. Her heart was beating steadily. She wasn't afraid. For the first time in two years, she felt completely, undeniably free.
