“And then she got pregnant and I couldn’t end it.” He runs a frustrated hand through his hair.
My jaw drops at what he’s just admitted. Sandra visibly deflates. All the fight goes out of her. “You know what?” she says. “This was a terrible idea. I’m very sorry that I bothered you, Abigail.”
She needs to know all of it. Even if it hurts. “He kept sleeping with me, Sandra, even after he told you he wasn’t. He’s a liar, and he cheated on both of us, if you want to look at it that way.”
“I can see that.” Her voice is small.
I motion up and down his body. “I am very sorry that this is what you’re going to end up with.”
“I’m not at all certain he’s what I’ll end up with,” she replies, finding a bit of backbone apparently. She lays a hand on her belly. “But I also can’t undo any of it.” She adds, so low that I can barely hear it, “I truly thought he was mine.”
I lay my hand on my chest and press it tight. “He couldn’t be yours until he stopped being mine.”
“I see that now.” Without another word she turns and gets back in the car, closing the door behind her. I see her stare down at the floorboard. I feel a tug of sympathy for her, even though I don’t want to.
“Can you get this thing?” Charles calls out. And then I see Wilbur’s wings flutter wildly as Charles kicks the duck away from him.
And before I can move, before I can intercede in any way at all, Ethan punches Charles square in the face. Charles sees it coming, but he’s so surprised that he doesn’t try to dodge or block it or get out of the way.
Charles lifts a hand to his nose, wiping to see if it’s bleeding. It’s not. Truth be told, Ethan could have hit him a lot harder. Charles stands there, sniffling into his hand, his eyes watering wildly.
Ethan bends down and scoops Wilbur up in his arms, cradling him close to his body. “Don’t touch my duck,” he says sternly. Wilbur quacks loudly, like he’s telling Charles off, too, his neck extending as he gripes out loud.
And if this wasn’t so awkward, it would be hilarious.
I cover my mouth with my hand to keep from letting out an enormous snort. I hold it in, but just barely.
“Are you fucking her?” I hear Charles ask one more time.
Ethan turns to me, like he’s asking for my permission to hit him again.
“Go home, Charles,” I say. “If you know what’s good for you.”
“So, will you call my mother and tell her that you approve?”
“Nope.”
“But Abs—!”
“It’s Abigail,” Ethan bites out.
“Why are you talking right now?” Charles says, hands on hips as if he’s reprimanding a child.
Ethan takes one step toward him, and Charles dashes for the car, which is hilarious because Ethan is still holding the duck under his arm.
Charles gets in, slams the door, and rolls the window down. “I need for you to do the right thing, Abby!” he yells. He rolls the window up quickly when Ethan starts toward him again, and then he backs out of the drive.
Ethan turns and walks up the steps. He sets Wilbur down on the porch and the duck marches around protesting like Charles is still here and he’s tattling on him.
“That’s some duck,” I say.
“My attack duck,” he replies with a grin. “I’m kind of proud of him.” He walks toward me and brushes that stray lock of hair behind my ear again. His fingers are so gentle that I lean into his hand, and he cups my face, staring into my eyes. “Are you okay?”
I heave out a sigh. “Actually, I am.” I reach out and grab his biceps, giving him a squeeze. “I’m really glad you punched him, though.”
“Well, he kicked my duck,” he says simply, his eyes glinting with humor. “I had to do something.”
“He kind of deserved it.”