“There was a ringing in his ears, like a dead phone line that he couldn’t hang up on.”

“He stood looking out past the certainty of the empty porch, but he couldn’t imagine his father standing anywhere else. It was like listening for the phone to ring, wanting it to ring so badly you convince yourself that you can feel the person on the other end of the line, feel them dialing your number, but then you wait and wait, and it never rings.”

“I reached for the phone and dialed his number. I listened to it ring. It rang on and on. I imagined the phone crying out in his empty room.I didn't count the rings, but it felt like hundreds. Could Mr. Tate hear them echoing through his house? Was I torturing him? Making him scream in frustration, pressing his hands to his ears to block out the noise? If he wanted to make the ringing stop, all he had to do was pick up.Maybe he had unplugged Jonah's phone. Maybe he couldn't hear the ringing at all.”

“The phone rings.“Asshole,” she mutters. She picks it up.“Will you let me explain?”“No.” She hangs up.”

“I could not bring myself to hang up the phone or even so much as move it from my ear. The chance that I could hear his voice once again was too great a prospect.”

“And then the line was quite but not dead. I almost felt like he was there in my room with me, but in a way it was better, like I was not in my room and he was not in his, but instead we were together in some invisible and tenuous third space that could only be visited on the phone.”