Moving Target
“When she awakened hours later, B., backlit by sun shining in through the windows, was standing beside the bed, holding out his phone.
“It’s your mother,” he said. “Apparently, she’s on the warpath. I’m on my way to the shower.”
Ali tried to clear the sleep out of her throat before she answered. “Hi, Mom.”
“Where in the world are you?” Edie Larson demanded. “I called off and on all day yesterday. You never answered and you never called me back.”
Ali’s phone, still turned off and most likely totally discharged, lay in the bottom of her purse. She hadn’t remembered to turn it back on. “Someone hacked in to it,” Ali said. “I don’t feel comfortable talking on it when someone else might be listening in on the conversation.”
“Someone hacked your phone?” Edie repeated. “Can’t B. do something about that? Isn’t that what he does for a living, for Pete’s sake?”
“He’s been quite busy,” Ali said.
“I’m calling about tomorrow,” Edie said.
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