Peggy pulled the blankets up over her head, but couldn’t hide from the sun coming through the window. She was groggy and hung over. Shooting pains traveled from behind her ears to the back of her head. Beside her on the pillow, next to a stray earring and a sizeable drool spot, was her new mobile.
Her eyes fell on it. “Oh. Oh god, no,” she mumbled.
She grabbed the sleek little device and flipped it open. Recent…Dialed calls…
Her eyes widened as she scanned the list. Seven calls, and she didn’t remember a single one. Embarrassing calls to friends were nothing new; she could handle that. What made her nervous, though, was the first name on the list—the last person she’d called. Her new boss, his home number. 2 AM. Maybe it was just the machine, but some faint memory suggested that it hadn’t been. She pressed View…Call times…
“Oh,” she inhaled sharply. 1:07. An hour and seven minutes. She strained to remember anything—a single word—but came up short.
She flipped the phone closed, shoved it deep under the bedclothes, and buried her face in the wet pillow.
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