“... and I got so scared. I want to come home. I know running away was wrong and you’ve been worried sick. I should have called you days ago but I was afraid， afraid ...”
13）Sobs of deep-felt emotion flowed from the receiver and poured into my heart. Immediately I pictured my daughter’s face in my mind， and my fogged senses seemed to clear， “I think ...”
“No！ Please let me finish！ Please！” She pleaded in desperation. I paused and tried to think what to say. Before I could go on， she continued. “Mum. I know I shouldn’t be drinking now...but I’m scared， Mum. So scared！”
The voice broke again， and I bit into my lip， feeling my own eyes fill with moisture. I looked up at my husband， who sat silently mouthing， “Who is it？”
I shook my head and when I didn’t answer， he jumped up and left the room， returning seconds later with a portable phone held to his ear. She must have heard the click in the line because she asked， “Are you still there？ Please don’t hang up on me！ I need you. I feel so alone.”
I clutched the phone and stared at my husband， seeking guidance. “I’m here， I wouldn’t hang up，” I said. “I should have told you， mum. When we talk， you just keep telling me what I should do. You read all those pamphlets on how to talk to kids. You don’t listen to me. You never let me tell you how I feel. It is as if my feelings aren’t important. Because you’re my mother you think you have all the answers. But sometimes I don’t need answers. I just want someone to listen.”
I wallowed the lump in my throat and stared at the how-to-talk-to-your-kids pamphlets scattered on my nightstand. “I’m listening，” I whispered.
“You know， back there on the road after I got the car under control， I saw this phone booth and it was as if I could hear you preaching to me about how people shouldn’t drink and drive. So I called a taxi. I want to come home.”