Pride
Page 117
Hesitantly, I crossed the room and glanced at the display screen. My heart seemed to swell within my chest, and I felt my pulse race at the information it verified.
Angela Hasting. The “long-term” girlfriend Ethan had been avoiding all week.
I snatched the phone before I could chicken out, and pushed the Accept Call button. She should know what had happened. Or at least one version of it. “Hello?”
“Hi. I’m looking for Ethan Sanders.” She sounded nice. And I really didn’t want to ruin her day.
“Um…is this Angela?” I asked.
“Yes. Who is this?” Her voice dipped into the suspicion range, and I flinched, because it was about to get so much worse.
“This is Faythe. Ethan’s sister.”
“Oh, hi, Faythe.” Relief was thick in her tone, and that made everything so much harder. “Ethan talks about you all the time. Can I speak to him, please?”
Well, here goes… “Angela, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Ethan had an accident three days ago. A really bad one.” I hesitated, then made myself say the rest of it. “He…died.”
“What? No.” She sniffled, and fresh tears formed in my own eyes. “You’re serious?”
“Yes. I’m sorry.” I sank onto Ethan’s bed, wondering if I should offer to meet her for lunch or something, to explain the human-friendly version of his last moments.
“Me, too.” The sniffling grew more pronounced. “What happened? How did he…?”
“He fell and broke his neck,” I said, closing my eyes, but even as the words left my lips, his actual death replayed in my head, his last words—a plea for my help—haunting me. “Ethan was just being himself, and he fell out of a tree in our front yard.”
“How horrible…” Angela’s pause felt heavy, as if she had more to say, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear it, whatever it was. I wasn’t up to remembering Ethan with someone who couldn’t possibly have really known him. Not with the dirt still fresh on his grave.
But she continued before I could figure how to hang up gracefully. “I know my timing really sucks, but… well, I need to tell you something.”
What, had he left a toothbrush at her place? Snagged one of her T-shirts? Whatever it was, it could damn well wait until we’d at least said goodbye to the other mourners.
“I’m pregnant.”
Angela Hasting. The “long-term” girlfriend Ethan had been avoiding all week.
I snatched the phone before I could chicken out, and pushed the Accept Call button. She should know what had happened. Or at least one version of it. “Hello?”
“Hi. I’m looking for Ethan Sanders.” She sounded nice. And I really didn’t want to ruin her day.
“Um…is this Angela?” I asked.
“Yes. Who is this?” Her voice dipped into the suspicion range, and I flinched, because it was about to get so much worse.
“This is Faythe. Ethan’s sister.”
“Oh, hi, Faythe.” Relief was thick in her tone, and that made everything so much harder. “Ethan talks about you all the time. Can I speak to him, please?”
Well, here goes… “Angela, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Ethan had an accident three days ago. A really bad one.” I hesitated, then made myself say the rest of it. “He…died.”
“What? No.” She sniffled, and fresh tears formed in my own eyes. “You’re serious?”
“Yes. I’m sorry.” I sank onto Ethan’s bed, wondering if I should offer to meet her for lunch or something, to explain the human-friendly version of his last moments.
“Me, too.” The sniffling grew more pronounced. “What happened? How did he…?”
“He fell and broke his neck,” I said, closing my eyes, but even as the words left my lips, his actual death replayed in my head, his last words—a plea for my help—haunting me. “Ethan was just being himself, and he fell out of a tree in our front yard.”
“How horrible…” Angela’s pause felt heavy, as if she had more to say, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear it, whatever it was. I wasn’t up to remembering Ethan with someone who couldn’t possibly have really known him. Not with the dirt still fresh on his grave.
But she continued before I could figure how to hang up gracefully. “I know my timing really sucks, but… well, I need to tell you something.”
What, had he left a toothbrush at her place? Snagged one of her T-shirts? Whatever it was, it could damn well wait until we’d at least said goodbye to the other mourners.
“I’m pregnant.”
