Sara Moore went into the phone booth and closed the door behind her. She reached into her clutch purse and took out some change before tucking it under her arm. She pulled the number from her sleeve and placed it on the shelf below the phone. Then she picked up the receiver and lifted it to her ear. Despite the fact that was not in any danger here, a small shudder went through her as she dialed his number. The feeling of safety was one a childhood memory destroyed by Bruce Moore.
The streets were nearly deserted at this hour. She listened to the sound of the phone ringing and around at the quiet street and watched the night slowly give way to the day on the horizon. The autumn wind stirred up a miniature tornado of leaves and rubbish in the street. She touched her hand to her bruised and swollen face. He had hit her for the last time. She was glad the children were with her mother. She would leave him and get her kids back. She would find some way to care for them. Maybe Ron would hire her again. Ahtough she knew after the way she left, that was unlikely. “Hello? Hello?” She listened to Stan’s groggy voice and pictured him with eyes still closed lying on his king-sized bed. He had given her his number six months ago. Maybe the offer didn’t still stand, after all a lot can happen in six months. What if Bruce found out? No, he would find out. And then- Her heart raced. “Hello.” She quickly hung up the phone.
A young woman in a bright scarf walked a small mixed breed dog. He was the same chocolate color of the lab Bruce bought her when they were first married. The thought of Happy made her smile. Bruce would be awake soon and he needed her.
The open sign at the donut shop came on across the street. Delight Donuts made the best coffee in the city. “A hot cup of their fresh roasted bean is just what we need after a night like last night,” she spoke softly to herself. The crossed the street and opened the door to the sweet smell of freshly baked pastries.
“Hello, Sara” said Vijay Patel, pretending again not to notice the fresh bruises and cut lip, “One black coffee and one French Vanilla cappuccino.” He began making it when he saw her step out of the phone booth – like he did every morning.
Written for 3WW’s prompt: clutch, delight, happy
Comments, Corrections, and Critiques welcome!