Angel Falls (Angel Falls Series, #1), Babette Jongh [books for 6 year olds to read themselves .TXT] 📗

I have to cancel our plans. Something’s come up. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”

I looked out the window at soggy gray skies that promised more rain. After a couple of hours of slumping around the house, I called my mom.

No answer.

I called Meredith Sutton, the ballet mom I’d visited with briefly at Ben’s after the funeral.

“’Lo?” Her husband answered, in that soothing voice of his that was deep as the ocean but soft as a sigh.

“It’s Casey. Is Meredith there?”

“She’s at work.”

“Oh.” I’d thought she was a stay-at-home mom.

“She’s working part-time at Murphy Realty while she studies for her realtor’s license. Do you want that number?”

“That’s okay. Just tell her I called. Bye.” I felt like everyone in the world was out doing something except me and Ben. I dialed his number.

He answered on the second ring. Ben and I were, in fact, the only two people on the face of the earth at home on a rainy Saturday afternoon.

“Hey, Ben.” I tried to sound nonchalant though I knew there was a forlorn note in my voice. “My weekend plans fell through. Could we still go out for dinner tonight?”

“Sure.” Ben sounded pitifully eager, didn’t even ask why I was suddenly available. I knew I’d latched onto a kindred spirit, another lonely soul who didn’t want to be left alone with his thoughts. “Let me call Lois and see if she can babysit.”

“You don’t have to do that. We could take the kids somewhere. The park and then McDonald’s, maybe. They’d like that.”

“Oh, please.” The grimace was plain in Ben’s voice. “Please don’t make me do that. I’ll call Lois and then call you right back.”

“Okay.” I hung up and watched out the window as the skies started spitting rain. Again.

Now I’d be going out to dinner with Ben. Why didn’t that make me feel better?

I slouched in the quilted reading chair, taking comfort from Chester’s fat feline form in my lap. His nasal purr started up the moment I started petting him, and his ecstasy-inspired drool dripped onto my leg, darkening the denim. “You are a totally worthless cat.”

Chester blinked his crossed blue eyes and purred even louder.

The phone rang. Expecting Ben to call, I picked up the receiver, still petting Chester’s back with long, smooth strokes. “Hey, Ben.”

Silence on the other end, followed by a low, throat-clearing sound. “It’s not Ben.”

Well, shit. It was Ian, clearly not happy that I was expecting a call from Ben.

“Um,” I faltered. My gut felt like it was shrinking, curling up like a snail that had just been dosed with salt. “I wasn’t—”

“Expecting me to call?” Ian finished my sentence smoothly, with a light tone that didn’t fool me, not even a little.

“Well, no, I wasn’t.” My gut kept shriveling, but the rest of me decided to fight back. A smidgen of huffiness crept into my tone. I’d have been with Ian right now if he hadn’t broken our date. “Not since I got the message you left earlier.”

“As I said, something came up. I’m very sorry—”

“So I heard,” I interrupted. I took a breath. My gut was recovering from the shock of hearing Ian when I’d expected Ben, and the rest of me had begun to calm down as well. “I’m sorry, too. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all week.”

Ian was silent for a second. So was I, and I had time to wonder why we were so stiff, so angry, so adversarial. Neither of us had done anything wrong.

“So,” I tried to infuse warm nonchalance into my tone. “Is the something that came up over now, or still ongoing?”

Just for a heartbeat, I could have sworn I heard a woman’s voice in the background, and my whole being went on high-alert. I almost decided I had let my imagination take over. Or at least, part of me did. The rest of me was busy imagining scenarios that didn’t include me.

“It’s still ongoing,” Ian responded. “It looks like I’ll be... unavailable... until late tomorrow afternoon.”

“Okay,” I said brightly, like he’d just offered to buy me a new car. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening, then.”

“Great. I’ll call you.”

Did that mean I’ll call you, as in I’ll-call-you-don’t-call-me? What, exactly, was going on? “Okay, fine.” My voice sounded unbearably chirpy. “I’ll talk to you later. When you call me.”

“Lass...” his voice was tentative, as if he wondered why I wasn’t sounding like coconut-covered meringue on a sweet pecan pie. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything is super-fine.” And fuck-you-very-much-for-taking-the-time-to-call. “Bye.”

“Goodbye.” His voice was quiet, resigned, as if he’d meant more than an ending to a phone conversation.

I put the receiver back in its cradle, and spread a hand over my belly, trying to soothe the ache. My gut had shriveled again, knotted-up over an innocuous little phone call, in which very little was even said.

The stuff that wasn’t said sat at the bottom of my stomach, a heap of empty snail shells. The phone rang again, and Chester leapt down from my lap with an indignant sniff but didn’t slay my thighs. Was Ian calling back to apologize and confess whatever he’d been holding back? Hope and despair battled over my vocal cords. I made myself answer, and came out with a wimpy, raspy, “Hello?”

“Hey, Angel,” Ben said. “Are you all dressed-up?”

Did Ben think I’d been prettifying myself since he hung up, just in case we had a date? Did men think our lives revolved around them? I tugged at the ragged collar of my sweatshirt, peered at the bags under my eyes that I could see from a distance in my reflection in the living room window. “Hells, yeah. I’m looking like a million dollars right about now. Can’t wait for you to see me.”

“Good. I can’t wait to see you, either. I’ve made a reservation at The Plantation.”

The Plantation was an intimate, expensive restaurant on the far side of the neighboring town. “That sounds great, Ben.”

“I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”

“Make it fifteen, and I’ll be ready.”

I exchanged my slumming