The spooky phone call

In late August, 2007, I was watching my daily re-run of Little House on the Prairie. Always loved that show. The fresh blue sky, the waving fields, the walkable roads, all appealed to my imagination, even though I knew better than anyone how brutal and unromantic an agricultural life can be. The new school year was starting after Labor Day, and I knew my days in Walnut Grove were numbered. I jumped as the phone rang. As usual, I looked at the caller ID first. I never answer to privacy directors or unknown numbers. I figure if it's important, they'll leave a voice mail. When I saw the name on the caller ID, my heart started stampeding out of my chest---in a bad way. It was my second husband M., there was no mistaking that name on caller ID! Holy X*(SMBF@#! was my reaction, as though a large spider had dropped onto my arm from a strand above. I had not seen or talked to M. for nearly 23years.
The last time I saw him, from a distance, was in 1985 outside the Courtroom. I'd come to the Courthouse separately to sign some divorce papers. I had completed the grisly task and was now leaving. He didn't see me. He sat alone on a bench, looking forlorn (but then, he tended to be a depressive and serious person anyway). He was dressed up better than I had ever seen him dressed during our marriage, in what must have been a brand new suit and tie. He stared straight ahead, grimly. My guilt twisted like a knife, but simultaneously, I couldn't deny the lighthearted feeling of joy. I did not want to feel good at someone else's expense, but there it was. That was the last time I saw him.
I had no desire to have any contact or communication since the relationship had ended badly. Frozen, I stared at the ringing phone. It rang. And rang. After three rings, it clicked into voice mail. My heart was drumming. What was I afraid of? Twenty-three years had passed. My imagination was going wild with the possibilities of why he might be calling. Had I forgotten to sign something?
I called my sister, a lawyer.
"I know this sounds crazy," I said, "but I just had a call from M., which I didn't pick up, but it's freaking me out!"
"Why would it freak you out?"
"Because I haven't had any contact with him for 23 years! And it ended badly with lots of hard feelings! There's never been any reason to have contact. Is there any possibility that he might have some legal retribution for me...like wanting money?"
"Tsk! Of course not. Too much time has passed."
"Remember, in the divorce settlement, he had to give me some money---because he had money; I didn't! It wasn't much, though, a few thousand dollars."
"Even if he'd given you a million dollars, there's no legal reason he could try to get it back. Wasn't it just six thousand?"
"Yeah."
"Oh hell, that's nothing! I've seen cases where spouses have gotten hundreds of thousands, an extra house, stock options, the whole ball of wax. And you're stressing over six grand?"
"I guess it's the guilt."
"He probably just wanted to call and say hi," she insisted. "Maybe he saw your book and wanted to call and just be friendly."
"How would he even get my number? It's unlisted." The paranoia was expanding.
"I don't know. But if he calls again, you ought to just pick up, talk to him, and be friendly."
"I'm too scared that he's calling to berate me for leaving him."
"I thought you told me he'd remarried about a year after you left."
"Yeah," I said. "She was a lot younger, maybe 17 years younger."
"So he didn't suffer that long," she said wryly.
"I think his wife died a few years ago. I saw her obituary somewhere."
"Died? Isn't that weird. Well, you're blowing it out of proportion. He's probably just lonely and is calling to talk. He can't want anything legal from you because it just can't be done."
For the next few days, the caller ID rang up with his name.
But I didn't answer. Then the calls stopped.