Brooke kept Jason’s phone close. She paced the kitchen tile, staring at its home screen, waiting and hoping that Eric would call. The kids were in the living room watching television after making amends with each other.
She had forgotten how hard Jason's passing was on John. He’d never really gone through the grieving process to handle what had happened. He just closed himself off. She knew part of it was hormones, but regardless, it was a lot to handle for a fourteen-year-old.
The phone buzzed in her hand. “Scratch” appeared on the screen, and Brooke brought it to her ear hastily.
“Eric?” Brooke asked.
“Broo---, yo- --ed to ---t ou-,” Eric said.
“What? Eric, I can barely hear you.”
“The---- go--- t- -ut every--- -ff.”
“Hello? Eric?”
The phone beeped in her ear, and the call dropped. She hit recent calls and pressed his name, but it wouldn't ring.
Brooke checked the reception bars on her phone. Empty.
“Shit,” she said.
Brooke rushed outside, her feet sliding in the sand and gravel in the front yard, holding her phone up, searching for any signal she could find.
“Come on. Don't do this to me now,” Brooke said.
She roamed the yard for ten minutes but found no signal. She collapsed to her knees. Eric’s voice had sounded rushed, loud, nervous. Whatever news he was trying to tell her was bad, but she didn’t have any idea how severe it was.