Approval or Denial

The silence on the other end of the line was disconcerting. Finally, Bob said, “Thanks for telling me, Danny. I should sleep now - Clay and I have class first thing in the morning.”

I remembered that subdued tone, and I hated it. When had my brother become so divided, that he could be bright-eyed and humorous onstage and sound so broken with the people who knew him best? Of course, it had been five years since we’d given up the stage.

“How are classes going?” I cradled the phone against my shoulder and flipped open the nearest file in case the shift lieutenant came by and decided to yell at me.

“We got the good students, so it’s pretty all right. I just - Clay’s gonna hit me over the head with one of his shoes if I don’t shut up. Good night, Danny.”

“’Night, Bobby.”

And the line went dead.

For a long moment, I stared at my cellphone, wondered if I should call back and tell Bob it was probably just a coincidence, that Carolyn Pierce was a common name in America, and he should just put it out of his mind. Then I flattened the letter with one hand, flipped open my cellphone again, and dialed the number listed in the letterhead. For a second, I was confused - why hadn’t I given Bob the number as well? But I knew why. I dialed.

After several rings, someone picked up. An unfamiliar girl’s voice greeted me.

“Law office, how can I help you?”

I cleared my throat. Time to be authoritative. “This is Sergeant Summers from the Calgary Twenty-Seventh Police District. I’m calling regarding an academic survey request submitted by Carolyn Pierce?”

“One moment, please,” the girl said, and I was assaulted by elevator music.

I waited, phone canted away from my ear. As an afterthought, I scrambled for a pen so I could take notes on the letter itself before I turned the request over. Also, a pen gave me something to fidget with.

A moment later, a woman said, “Hello?”

I froze. It was Carolyn.

She said again, “Hello?”

Years of being a performer bowled over me, and I was in professional mode before I knew it. “This is Sergeant Daniel Summers from the Calgary Twenty-Seventh Police District. Is this Carolyn Pierce?”

“This is she. Is this about the survey request I sent? I want you to know up front that the results will be kept completely confidential and I’m collecting data for statistical purposes.” Her words tumbled over each other with oh-so-familiar Carolyn enthusiasm.

My voice caught in my throat. “Of course,” I began. Now what could I say? I didn’t have authority to either deny or approve her request.

She broke in with, “Did you say your name was Daniel Summers?”

“I - yes.” Did she recognize my voice? Scott swore up and down it had broken some more since we’d disbanded. “I’m a sergeant. For the Calgary --”

“Dan? When did you become a cop?” Her voice was bright and cheerful and almost excited to hear me, and who the hell was she, to sound so happy when my brother had been quietly falling apart these last five years? “What a coincidence! How are the others?”

That was it. “I was just calling to inform you that we have received your request and it will be forwarded to the Chief for approval or denial.” And I hung up. I sank back in my chair with a sigh and tipped my head back to stare at the ceiling. What had I done?

(600 words)