Got Your Number

would be fair."
    "By the way, what kind of a doctor was he?"
    "A podiatrist."
    "A foot doctor? I don't think that counts anyway—a bunion isn't life-threatening."
    "You're just trying to make me feel better."
    "Angora, you don't have anything to feel bad about."
    Her cousin started crying in earnest. "I couldn't keep my man."
    "Oh, God—are you going to sing a country song?"
    She blew her nose on her sleeve. "No—that's number thirteen on my list."
    "Hey, watch it, that's my favorite T-shirt."
    "Sorry." Angora sighed. "I wouldn't expect you to understand about Trenton."
    "Why not?"
    "Because you don't need a man."
    "Don't tell me you believe your mother."
    "I didn't mean you don't need a man , I mean you don't need a man."
    Roxann shifted, ashamed to admit she'd been the tiniest bit envious watching Angora walk down the aisle. "Yeah, well...yeah."
    Angora gestured to the ruined dress heaped on the floor. "Daddy spent a fortune on that dress, the florist, the caterers."
    "If you feel bad about it, pay him back."
    "With what? The allowance he gives me?"
    She blinked. "You still get an allowance?"
    "Just for extras."
    Roxann was starting to remember how high-maintenance Angora could be. "So sell the rock like Trenton said and give the money to your folks."
    Her cousin stared down at her enormous ring, and a new wellspring of tears erupted. "But look at it—it's the perfect ring."
    "And will scare off every eligible man in the state."
    Angora hiccupped. "The ring goes back. Next?"
    " 'Get a postgraduate degree.' "
    " 'Get a gold credit card.' "
    " 'Go parasailing.' "
    " 'Go on a round-the-world cruise.' "
    " 'Become proficient at chess.' "
    " 'Become a famous painter.' "
    "Angora, I didn't know you were an artist."
    "I'm not, but I've seen enough of that abstract nonsense in the museum to fake it."
    You fake . Roxann peered over the top of her list at her tipsy cousin and considered telling Angora about the break-in and the message left on her computer. She chewed on her impulse, testing the story in her head. Maybe it was the distance, or maybe it was lying on her childhood bed, but the threat of danger now seemed more perceived than real. She changed her mind and swallowed the rest of her drink, closing her eyes to ward off the bitter sting at the back of her throat.
    Angora, who seemed to have acquired a taste for the mixed drink, refilled Roxann's glass under protest. By the time they were nearing the end of their lists, they were both feeling the effects of the alcohol—and from the items rounding out their lists, Roxann realized they must have been feeling the effects of that joint years ago.
    "Number thirty-one," Angora slurred, "is 'Get a tattoo.' "
    "Mine is 'Become a prosecuting attorney'—ha. The legal system is a joke."
    "Thirty-two is 'Enter an amateur strip contest.' "
    "Which explains why my number thirty-two says, 'Watch Angora make a fool out of herself in an amateur strip contest.' " They laughed hysterically, but Roxann sobered when she saw the next item on her list.
    "What is it?"
    "Well...remember Dr. Carl Seger?"
    "Do I ever."
    "I had a wild crush on him." An understatement.
    "And?"
    "And number thirty-three on my list is...well..."
    " 'Sleep with Dr. Carl,' " Angora finished.
    Roxann frowned. "How did you know?"
    Angora held up her list. "Ditto. I had a wild crush on him, too. And so did every female on campus."
    "I suppose you're right." Roxann stewed in the juices of old memories—the first time Carl had kissed her, the nights they'd stayed up late putting together research for his presentation, the special looks he reserved for her during his lectures. She'd adored him, all right.
    "He's still single, you know." Angora wagged her eyebrows. "The newsletter I got a couple of months ago said he was going to auction himself off for a fund-raiser during Homecoming."
    "I saw that issue."
    Angora sighed. "Wonder what a man like that would go for?"
    Roxann opted for silence again, but computed the amount in her IRA.
    Angora yawned. "The rest of my list makes no sense—what's a 'spebanker'?"
    "I have no idea."
    "Well, I wanted to own one."
    "You wanted to own one of everything."
    "What are your last two?"
    Roxann looked at her list, then swallowed hard. Have a daughter. Be a good mother. "Uh...mine are unreadable, too. I guess we fell asleep."
    Angora laughed. "Or passed out. You know what we should do, Roxann?"
    "I'm afraid to ask."
    Her cousin's jaw seemed a little loose, and her eyes were