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Chapter Three

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Ethan was woken by the moonlight. Or, more likely, by his desperate bladder-but when he opened his eyes, a clear white beam of lunar light slashed sharply through his window and into his vision. He put a hand over his eyes and felt his way into a sitting position, then eased his weight onto the carpet. The bathroom, which was only a few feet down the hall, seemed miles away, but he gritted his teeth hobbled toward the door.

He had been in Ellison for nearly two weeks now, but it felt as if time had stopped moving. He had no concept of anything except morning and night, day in and day out, countless starts and finishes to get to the very last one.

Two and a half months left to go.

The hallway was cloaked in near darkness, but through the kitchen Ethan saw a light on in the living room. At first he assumed that it was his uncle, up late watching television-then he heard his aunt's drawling voice.

"-just not sure if this was the right decision," she was saying. "Right for him or for us. I don't think Andrew thought it through."

Now Ethan paused, all bladder needs forgotten, and edged closer to the kitchen doorway as quietly as he could.

"Like hell he thought about it," Uncle Robert scoffed in reply. "The man grew up here; he should know better than anyone that folks in this town don't approve of marriages like his, much less the kids that come out of it. That boy was a pariah before he even set foot in Ellison."

Aunt Cara was quiet for a long moment, then Ethan thought he heard her sigh. "I hear them whispering when I'm in town, how sorry they feel for me, how embarrassing it must be to have one of them in my house. I can only imagine what he must be hearing."

"People are cruel, Cara. But you can hardly blame them. After what happened with the Scott boy, you can't expect anyone in this town to be kind. But it's only a few months, you know. It'll be over before you know it, he'll be gone, and our lives will return to normal."

They continued speaking in hushed tones, but Ethan reeled away from the doorway, his ears burning. He wasn't sure who the "Scott boy," or what this town thought was the wrong kind of marriage, but he knew that his aunt and uncle were talking about him. He thought about the people on the street, the way his uncle sometimes wouldn't meet his eyes. This was not Arcadia.

He lost sense of direction his confusion and reached the open door to his bedroom much sooner than he expected. He crashed into the room, knocking the door back against the wall. The soft murmur of conversation in the living room swept to a halt.

"Ethan?" Aunt Cara called hesitantly.

Ethan swallowed hard. "I was just-um-going to the bathroom."

There was a pause, then he heard his uncle sigh. "Go back to sleep, son."

Ethan nodded, though he knew they couldn't see him. "Okay," he mumbled. "Yes, sir."

***********

Aunt Cara was distant at breakfast the next morning. She kept her head down as she flipped eggs on the pan, and twice her blonde hair brushed by the open flame and nearly caught on fire. Uncle Robert was scanning the front page of the Sunday paper, a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He seemed unconcerned with his wife's lack of grace.

"Oh, heavens." Ethan looked up from the color funnies to find Aunt Cara waving her apron over a pan full of smoking scrambled eggs, an expression of exasperated misery on her round face. She turned to the empty carton and heaved a sigh. "No eggs with breakfast today, I suppose," she said. Ethan shifted in his chair.

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