#prcfessionalism

Ring. Ring. Riiiiing.

Jane twisted a curl around her finger, waiting for someone to get to the phone. She glanced back at the clock, frowning. It was about 2pm now, so it would be just about dinner time at home. Surely Dad was home by now. Right? The phone rang again, sending a pang of guilt through her heart. She told herself he must be busy.

On the sixth ring someone finally picked up the phone, and Jane had to force herself not to sigh in relief. So the old house wasn’t empty or abandoned. Not yet, at least. Even better, the warm, gruff voice that answered “Beckam Residence.” was unmistakably her father’s. Jane’s smile was already starting to ache.

“Hey, dad.” She said, voice ringing with a cringe worthy amount of childishness. “Uh, how are you doing?”

“Janey?” Henry Beckam sounded surprised to hear his daughter on the phone. Which made sense: She rarely called him, and when she did it was usually on holidays. Much of their communication these days came via email, and that only occasionally. Jane felt a fresh stab of guilt as he continued. “Well this is a surprise. Something wrong?”

Jane’s mind ran off towards the last few weeks; the calls with Elizabeth, the intercontinental flights, the long nights and early mornings, the silent fear that lurked in each doctor’s office and pharmacy. She thought of the haunted looks Victor and Elizabeth would share, and shivered. “Nothing is wrong.” She assured him, perhaps a bit shakily, “I just, wanted to talk. How’s the farm? How’s Gran?”

“Oh, she’s fine. Tenacious as always.” He chuckled. “She’s been trying to convince your aunt to be in the play this year. Says it will give her some culture.” They both laugh, him a bit more heartily than her, until their breath is short from it.

“What about you?” Jane asked, perhaps over eager. An image of her father sick in bed --or worse-- leapt to mind. He seemed to sense it too. Jane could almost feel his suspicious look as he drew a long, slow breath. It was a face she knew well. One that had discovered her sneaking animals home many an evening in her youth.

“Janey,” He said softly, “Are you sure nothing is wrong?” Jane cursed her voice and her timing. Of course dad would know if she were worried. He could read her like a damn book. He continued as she chided herself, sending a whole new pang of guilt along the line. “Is it that boy? The one you told me about? Has something happened?”

“No! Dad. No.” she sighed into the phone. “Victor is lovely as ever. And everything is fine for the most part-”

“For the most part?” A growl deepened his voice. “You know I can take a plane over if you need me Janey.”

“Dad.” She snapped, frustrated. She took a deep breath, calming herself. “It’s not Victor. It’s just-- I just wanted to check up on you.”

Her father chuckled again. “I thought that was supposed to be my job.”

She tried to laugh with him, but the sound grated on her own ears, and soon silence fell. Henry --to his credit-- let is rest until Jane collected her thoughts.

“Nothing is wrong.” Jane said again, slowly. “We just, got some news and I remembered that I hadn’t called you in, a while.” There was a tapping sound and she fidgeted. Henry waited longer, a warm smile starting to move across his face. Soon enough however it became clear that Jane’s tongue had tied itself up over whatever she was looking to say. He almost laughed; some things never changed.

“So,” He mused, taking her silence as a cue,. “What is going on, since there’s nothing wrong?”

On the other side of the line he heard a deep breath being taken, and soon Jane launched into a story about workplace restrictions, doctor’s visits, sleep deprivation and Christmas shopping while her father listened carefully. After a few minutes they were both quiet again.

“That’s a lot.” Mr. Beckam said finally, frowning into the receiver. She responded with a hum of agreement, so he went on. “You could have called me sooner Janey.”

There was another hum, this one longer and more guilty. “I know. I just di-- ah, thought I could handle it.”

“You can always call me, Janey.”

For a while Jane was quiet. It was a simple statement, and down deep somewhere Jane knew it to be true, but hearing him say the words sparked a flood of warmth she didn’t quite know what to do with. “I know.” She assured. There was another beat of silence, which her father took as a queue.

“Though, your aunt is waving me off the phone. Apparently I have to eat.”

Jane giggled, and there was another moment before finally Jane muttered. “I love you, dad.”