Sheer Abandon
“Blast from the past. Don’t you dare say you don’t remember me!” For the second time in forty-eight hours Martha felt time jerk to a standstill. She knew that voice so well; that musical, slightly low-pitched voice. The last time she had heard it, it had been calling her name across the crowded station in Bangkok. She felt the heat again, the suffocating humid heat, and she could hear the noise, that strange, unmistakable blend of foreign babble, slurring Anglo-American, and the relentless pumpi...ng of pop music; and she felt her panic again, saw herself hurrying away, pretending she hadn’t heard or seen Jocasta, slipping into a tiny narrow street and taking refuge in the chaos of the stalls.
“Martha? It is you, isn’t it? Chad Lawrence gave me your number. It’s Jocasta. Jocasta Forbes.”
“No, of course not. I mean, of course I remember you. It’s very good to hear from you.” She could hear her own voice, astonishingly normal, pleasant, friendly, but no more.
“I’d love to see you, Martha.MoreLess
“Martha? It is you, isn’t it? Chad Lawrence gave me your number. It’s Jocasta. Jocasta Forbes.”
“No, of course not. I mean, of course I remember you. It’s very good to hear from you.” She could hear her own voice, astonishingly normal, pleasant, friendly, but no more.
“I’d love to see you, Martha.MoreLess
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