I looked past them.
A woman stood beside the curb.
I recognized her after a moment.
Sophie’s mother.
Rebecca Hale.
Her face was swollen from crying.
And beside her was an empty wheelchair.
A new one.
Blue frame. Black seat. Clean silver wheels.
For one terrible second, I thought Sophie was dead.
My knees nearly failed beneath me.
“Where is she?”
Rebecca hurried toward me.
“She’s all right.”
I pressed one hand against my chest.
“Oh, God.”
“She’s all right,” Rebecca repeated, gripping my arm. “She’s at Bellmere General. A fractured wrist. Some bruising. Nothing worse.”
“Hospital?”
I turned sharply toward Ethan.
He closed his eyes.
That was when I understood.
Whatever had happened yesterday, the story about selling his guitar had only been part of it.
The guitar had been Ethan’s favorite possession.
We had bought it for him the previous Christmas after months of saving. It was a beautiful sunburst electric guitar he had stared at through the window of Bellmere Music for weeks. He had never asked directly because he knew it was expensive, but I had seen the way he stopped whenever we passed the store.
