“What’s the number? I’ll call him for you.”
She figured it was smarter to make the call than hand her phone over. She
didn’t know him, just wanted to help. The bloody arm and that look on his face,
all he wanted, he said, was to talk to his brother.
“If we call your brother, will he come get you?”
“I don’t know. He’s dead.”
“He’s dead. Then maybe we should call somebody else. Who would be good to
call to come help you?”
“My mother. My mother would come.”
Okay, good. What’s your mom’s number?”
It had three sevens.