Got Your Number

to watch."
    They made plans to meet back at the house, then Nell left.
    "Did she seem old to you?" Angora asked.
    "We seem old to me."
    "I remember her looking more, I don't know—more liberated. Cool. Braless."
    "People change, buy underwear." She rummaged in her purse, then frowned. "Have you seen my life list?"
    Angora wasn't paying attention. "Do you think she's happy?"
    "I suppose so. Have you seen my list?"
    "She doesn't even drive a car—don't you think that's kind of backward?"
    "She marches to the beat of a different drum. Angora, have you seen my list?"
    "No. When did you have it last?"
    "I can't remember—maybe when we were in Springfield?" Where Angora had blown the afternoon with a travel agent planning the round-the-world cruise on her life list as if she were launching next week. Sometimes the woman seemed to be on another plane of reality. "Or Bloomington?" Where they'd forgone the tattoo artist's needle in favor of ornate henna tattoos around their ankles so Angora could strike another item from her list.
    "I thought you didn't care about that silly old list," Angora teased.
    "I...don't." But there was something bothersome about misplacing a list that had outstanding items on it. Since you couldn't possibly remember everything on it, you were, of course, relieved of the obligation. Still, it seemed like...cheating.
    I'VE GOT YOUR NUMBER, YOU FAKE.
    She shivered. Knowing that someone was looking over your shoulder had a way of making you evaluate your life, your decisions. Had she made good ones? Bad ones? She checked her watch—it was 6 p.m. in London.
    "Come on," Angora said. "Let's unpack later—I want to cruise campus."
    "I don't think people use that phrase anymore."
    Angora grabbed her arm and tugged her toward the door. "You look a little peaked—are you more worried about that Cape guy than you're letting on?"
    She didn't answer, because in truth, she was more worried about seeing Carl again—how petty was that? A dangerous criminal wanted to extract information out of her, and she was concerned about how her old flame would react to seeing her again. What if he didn't recognize her?
    "Don't worry—that cute hunky detective probably scared the crap out of Cape."
    At the mention of Capistrano, she scowled. He wasn't cute, he was... noticeable . And he wasn't hunky, he was... bulky . But he did have an uncanny sense of timing. And maybe he had scared Cape—for now. But Frank Cape would be back. Or he'd just wait until she returned to Biloxi.
    Then she pursed her mouth—perhaps she wouldn't return to Biloxi. It wasn't as if she had a gaggle of friends waiting for her, or even a job, for that matter. In fact, she'd bet that no one even noticed she was gone. Once Capistrano's partner recovered, she'd certainly drop off his radar.
    "I'd like to check my voice recorder first," she said, padding to the living room. She found a base unit for a cordless phone on a glass table, but no handset there, or in the tidy, but cramped blue kitchen. Nell's bedroom and office were across the hall, but Roxann didn't want to pry behind the closed door, opting to wait until her cell phone recharged. The highly processed foods she'd been sharing with Angora had made her thirsty, though, so she peeked into a kitchen cabinet in search of a water glass. Instead, she stumbled onto a stash of medical supplies. A few prescription bottles rolled out onto the counter. Antibiotics. Antivirals. She recalled suddenly that Nell was a bit of a hypochondriac—another manifestation of loneliness.
    From out of nowhere, a cough emerged from her throat, and her future hit her like a ton of bricks. She had to get out of there. "Let's go, Angora."
    They walked the short distance to the campus entrance. The exercise felt good to her unused muscles, but her new boots still weren't broken in. Considering her new duds and hairstyle, she thought she'd feel young again when they reached the university grounds. Instead she felt exposed as a middle-aged has-been, and downright light-headed from the deluge of forgotten impressions: the pleasing mix of period architecture, the throngs of majestic trees, and the wind barreling down the streets as if propelled by the energy of the young bodies. Although the chance that she'd see Carl on the sidewalk was remote, her gaze darted over each face, poised to see him at every turn. Perhaps she should have called him...
    "It looks smaller than I remember," Angora offered, pivoting her