Chapter 12
Atlanta, Georgia
The shrill ringing of the telephone startled Helene awake. Turning in the bed, she glanced at Bill buried in the covers. It was nice to see him there; she hadn’t appreciated that sight for quite some time, but in the predawn hours, it was nice that he was home.
Grabbing the insistent phone before it could ring another time, Helene whispered into the receiver, “Hello?”
“Hello?” The male voice on the other end seemed unsure. “May I speak with Helene Miller please?”
Helene sat up in bed. “With whom?”
The voice hesitated. “I’m trying to reach the daughter of Anna Theresa Miller. Do I have the right number?”
Helene’s tongue ran across her dry lips. “Yes . . . yes, you have the right number. This is Helene Miller Foster.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Your mother’s note sai
