“I mean—not everybody.”
He winced.
“That sounded bad.”
Despite herself, Sophie laughed once.
Then her mother appeared behind her.
Jillian.
She was wiping her hands on a dish towel.
“Sophie, who—”
She saw us.
Then the box.
And stopped.
“HE SOLD HIS GUITAR.”
“What’s happening?”
Ethan started talking too quickly.
“Mrs. Jillian, I know this is weird.”
“Weird?”
“I bought Sophie a wheelchair.”
Jillian stared.
“You bought…”
She looked at me.
I nodded.
Sophie’s eyes started filling.
“Ethan.”
He looked uncomfortable.
“What?”
“How did you pay for this?”
He said nothing.
So I answered.
“He sold his guitar.”
Jillian covered her mouth.
Sophie stared at him.
The room became completely silent.
“Your guitar?”
Ethan shrugged.
“The expensive one?”
Another shrug.
“The guitar you never stop talking about?”
“Yeah.”
Sophie’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“Why would you do that?”
Ethan looked at her as if the answer were obvious.
“Because you needed the chair.”
That was all.
No speech.
No expectation.
No request for thanks.
Just:
You needed it.
Sophie started crying.
Then laughing because she clearly hated that she was crying.
