**I can do it. I can do it. She's probably not even there.** Flat on his belly, his nose almost touching the handset, he stares and the dial. **Just do it, it's not like it really matters. Do it! Do it!** All at once he snatches the handset and dials the number furiously. He does not need the penned number on the scrap of paper crumpled in his closed fist.
The phone at the other end rings dimly, as though through a tunnel. He jumps when it rings again and the handle slips out of his grasp. He grabs the handset off the bed and hears a distant voice saying, "Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?" He stammers out something and asks if Laura is home. The room swims before his eyes. There is a silence and the sound of feet walking away, then a series of clicks and crashes. "Hi there, Chris. What's up?" The voice is sweetly familiar, and he nearly faints with relief. "Oh, not much," he replies, hoping that his voice is as casual as his words.