Got Your Number

kitchen.
    At the sound of the man's name, her entire body contracted involuntarily. "He went back to Biloxi."
    "Are you still seeing him?"
    She sighed. "Dad, I was never seeing him."
    "Are you going to be seeing him?"
    She opened her mouth to say no, then stopped. Why was it so hard to admit that she'd fallen for Joe Capistrano? Because of the way he made her question her life choices, and her motives? Carl Seger had spouted platitudes about social consciousness while exploiting hordes of female students. But Capistrano was out on the streets every day catching bad guys so that people could sleep a little easier at night. He had made her see that she wanted to help improve domestic and custodial laws instead of evade them.
    So maybe he wasn't offering her forever. Maybe they could have now, and just... be .
    I hope you get past whatever is keeping you from living...if you do, you've got my number.
    "Roxann?" her father said from the doorway. "I asked if you're going to be seeing the young man?"
    She sat up and reached for her purse. "Dad...do you mind if I make a long-distance call?"
    "Be my guest."
    The card Capistrano had given her was a little worse for time spent in the bottom of her purse, but the number for his cell phone was readable. She dialed the number, heart pounding. When it rang once, she hung up. After a quick pep talk, she dialed again. It rang, and she hung up again. Cursing her cowardice, she dialed the number again. It rang once, twice, three times before he picked up.
    "I thought I'd wait to see if you were going to hang up again," he said, sounding amused.
    She frowned—a pox on caller ID. "It could have been my father calling. Besides, I might just hang up now."
    "Oh, don't do that. I've missed you."
    She swallowed. "I've missed you, too."
    "See, that didn't hurt, did it?"
    "I'm coming to see you."
    "If you weren't, I was coming to get you."
    "Is this going to work, Capistrano?"
    "I didn't get scalded, pepper-sprayed, and tire-ironed for it not to."
    She smiled into the phone and relaxed.

Epilogue

    ROXANN CLIMBED into the passenger seat of the Dooley with an armful of mail.
    "Popular lady," Capistrano said.
    "I haven't picked up my mail in ages."
    "Does this mean I have to let you go outside every weekend you visit?"
    She shook her head at his foolishness, then flipped through the pile, discarding junk mail and sorting bills. A letter from Richard with a Birmingham postmark evoked a rueful noise from her throat.
    "What's that?"
    "A letter from an old boyfriend."
    He made a hurt face. "What if he wants you back?"
    "I'm not available," she sang, then opened the letter. A fifty-dollar bill floated out.

    Dear Roxann,
    I hope this note finds you well. I thought you'd like to know that I'm in AA and have been sober for almost five months. One of the steps to recovery requires us to seek forgiveness from people we've wronged and try to repair the damage we've done. I probably owe you my life for orchestrating that intervention, so thank you from the bottom of my heart. And I remembered that I owe you fifty bucks.
    Fondly,
    Richard

    "Is your old flame buying us dinner?" he asked.
    "Nope. You're buying dinner, he's buying a study guide that I need."
    She pulled out another envelope, this one forwarded to her through the Rescue program. "Another boyfriend?"
    "No, but your petty jealousy is turning me on." The letter was from Melissa Cape Morgan.

    Dear Roxann,
    Funny that I don't even know your last name, yet I owe you so much. Renita and I have never been happier—you are in our prayers every night. Enclosed is a picture that Renita drew for her "lady hero." Thank you.
    xoxoxoxo
    Melissa and Renita

    Renita had drawn a crayon version of their "rescue" to the airport. She'd portrayed Roxann wearing a long red cape and tall red boots. Roxann smiled, and her heart expanded. Maybe she had done some good all these years. She would call Tom Atlas tomorrow to see what she could do for the Rescue program on a part-time basis.
    The next card was a heartfelt message from Nell Oney's sister, thanking Roxann for attending the memorial service. So sad—Nell had suffered tremendously in the end. Roxann swallowed the lump in her throat and hoped Nell was in a better place.
    Finally she pulled out a thick, square envelope and grinned. "It's from Angora." She ripped it open and pictures fell into her lap.

    Dear Roxann,
Thought I'd let you see what life on the farm is like. I really love it here, especially the