Got Your Number

reminiscing, and now it looked as if she were bound for South Bend, Indiana, after all. Back to Carl—number thirty-three on her life list. Maybe this would be her opportunity to satisfy her burning curiosity about the man who had inspired her to make a difference in the world.
    Roxann closed her eyes and conjured up his face. With the situation she was in, and the slump she'd experienced lately, she could certainly use a little inspiration. She'd never believed in premonition, but she had the queerest feeling of being pushed in a certain direction, as if she were careening toward the rest of her life. And that Carl Seger was destined to play a major role.

Chapter Nine

    ANGORA SMILED AND WAVED to the crowd. Thousands of bulbs flashed. Here she was, Miss America. The first woman to break the age barrier. Who needed a husband and a career when you had a sash and a crown?
    "Congratulations, Angora. Angora...Angora..."
    "Angora?"
    She opened her eyes and blinked her cousin Roxann into view. Why was Roxann in Atlantic City?
    "Angora, something's come up. I have to leave."
    She squinted. "Hmm?"
    "Wake up, Angora. We have to go."
    She moved her tongue, only to discover that someone had deposited something foul in her mouth. " Ugh . Where am I?"
    "You spent the night at my dad's. Can you sit up?"
    "Why wouldn't I be able to sit up?" She sat up, and a bomb exploded in her head. "Ohhhhhh."
    "I brought you some aspirin."
    "Shhhh!"
    "Take deep breaths."
    On the third deep breath, her stomach vaulted to her throat. She barely made it to the bathroom before everything she'd ingested the night before came surging toward daylight. Oh, God, she'd never eat pepperoni pizza again. In fact, she might never eat again, period. The Hangover Diet. Maybe she'd finally shed those ten pounds that had eluded her since puberty.
    Roxann handed her a cool cloth, and she buried her face in it. Then yesterday's events came flooding back to her—the shame, the disappointment—and she wanted never to lift her head again. The next few years of her life, so carefully planned as late as yesterday, now stretched before her...empty...lonely...not rich. She would be damaged goods in the eyes of the families that belonged to the club, forever referred to as "the jilted one." And Dee would never let her live down this fiasco.
    "Try to swallow these aspirin," Roxann urged. "It helped me."
    "If I die," she whispered, "don't let the coroner take a picture of me like this."
    "Don't worry—I'd fix your hair first. Can you make it to the bed?"
    "Only if you bring the bed into the bathroom."
    "Come on, up you go."
    Angora groaned as she became vertical again. The bed was a mile away, but she finally reached the end of it and eased down to a sitting position. "Why do I feel like hell and you don't?"
    "Because my body is used to processing more than carrots and popcorn."
    Roxann was right, of course. Roxann was always right. Her cousin's duffel bag sat on the floor, zipped and ready to go. "Did you say you have to leave?"
    "Yes—as soon as possible. I found a pair of Dad's sweatpants for you to wear, and a flannel shirt."
    Angora peered at the darkened window. "What time is it?"
    "Four-thirty."
    "In the morning?" She hadn't been up at four-thirty in the morning since...wait—she'd never been up at four-thirty in the morning.
    "Sorry—I really need to get going."
    "Back to Biloxi?"
    "Eventually. I have a few stops to make first."
    "Take me with you."
    Roxann shook her head. "I can't."
    "Please, Roxann? I can't face everyone, not yet." And not like this.
    "I called your parents last night and told them you were all right."
    "Thanks." She bit into her bottom lip. "Were they worried?"
    "Absolutely."
    A sliver of happiness cut through the disappointment that cocooned her heart. If they were worried now, think how much more worried they'd be if she didn't come home right away. "I don't want to go home."
    "Okay, then I'll take you to a friend's."
    Her mind wasn't operating at top speed, but she had the feeling that even if she weren't hung over, she wouldn't be able to come up with a name.
    "Angora?"
    "I'm thinking."
    Roxann sighed. "How about your maid of honor?"
    "Amanda Whittaker? We're not that close."
    "Then why did you ask her to be your maid of honor?"
    "Because she asked me to be hers last year."
    "Come on, Angora—there must have been twenty girls up there with you."
    "Twenty-four. You know, I wanted to ask you to be a