I hold my fist to my ear, thumb pointing up, pinky pointing down, in what I would like to assume is international sign language for phone. “Please?”
He eyes me. “You lose?”
“Yes, I’m lost.”
“Call papa?”
“Yes, exactly.”
He pulls a pen from the inside pocket of his coat, sets it on the bar napkin on his table, slides them in my direction, taps it, gestures at his phone.
I write Mom’s cell phone number down, hand it to him. He dials—a long series of numbers before the phone number itself, and then presses dial and hands it to me.
“Thank you,” I say, taking the phone from him. “Shukran.”
He nods, sips at his coffee, or espresso, or whatever it is.
It rings four or five times, and then Mom answers, her tone distinctly suspicious. “Hello? Who is this and how did you get this number?”
“Hi, Mom!” I use a fake, bright, chipper voice. Nothing like my usual tone, which should set her suspicions rattling immediately. “It’s me. I lost my phone, you know how I am. So I borrowed this nice man’s so I could touch base with you.”
A sharp pause. “Corinna! How wonderful to hear from you. Are you having a nice time? I heard you and Apollo have been having quite the adventure.”
“Oh, it’s just grand. We’re in Tunis, right now. We just ran into a little hiccup, you know how it is. Before I lost my phone, Uncle Harry had been trying to call me, and I wondered if you’d talked to him.”
“As a matter of fact, your father is with him right now, they’re planning to meet up—oh, I forget where. Somewhere in the Mediterranean, you know how your father is.”
“Well, I just didn’t want Uncle Harry to worry about me, since I’m not answering my phone. So maybe you could pass along the message to him that we’re in Tunis and we’rejust fine. But if they wanted to meet up with us here, that would be cool too.”
“I’ll be sure to pass along the message. Well, you be safe out there, honey.”
My throat is oddly, tight, hearing Mom’s voice. “Yeah, we will be.”
“Bye, sweetheart.”
“Bye, Mom.” I’m surreptitiously watching the phone’s owner while I speak to Mom, and judging by the way he’s attempting to look like he’s not paying attention, I suspect he speaks a lot more English than he’s letting on—or, understands more, at very least. Before I hand him his phone back, I delete the record of the call. “Thank yousomuch. Mom worries about me, you know?”
I’m sweating profusely—it’s late evening, almost night, but it’s still absurdly hot. I use the opportunity to snatch the napkin with Mom’s number on it from his table, dabbing at my face with it, making sure to “accidentally” smudge the numbers.
He notices this too. He eyes me. “Trouble, you go to embassy.”
I smile. “Oh, no trouble. I just lost my phone, is all.”
He glances at the Toyota, at Apollo in it, waiting. “Boyfriend, no phone?”
I laugh, trying to sound a little ditzy. “He’s one of those types who doesn’t believe in phones, you know? Connect with nature and all that?”
A lift of his chin, something muttered under his breath—unkind, most likely. He glances at his phone, noticing that I’d deleted Mom’s number, I think; he doesn’t say anything though, just eyes me curiously. His phone rings then, a jaunty little digital tune.
I wave at him and turn away. “Well, I’ll let you get that. Thanks a lot!Shukran!”
He waves back, a flick of his hand, almost a dismissal rather than a goodbye, swiping to answer the call.
Back in the Toyota, Apollo is sweating, slouched in his seat, appearing bored—his eyes betray sharp attention, however. “Get ahold of your mom?”
I put it in gear and pull away. “I did. She got the message. I guess Dad is heading this direction to meet with Uncle Harry—to look for us, I imagine. So we just have to stay out of trouble until they can get to us.”
He sits more upright in his seat, once we’re away from the café. “Which means we have to keep an eye out any out for tails.”
