Hoping to God he’s with them, I dial his mom’s cell number. She answers after a couple of rings.
“Jessa, dear, it’s been so, so long!”
I instantly feel bad for not making more of an attempt to keep in touch. Despite my rift with Chris, I’d invited them to the wedding. But they’d been in Portugal visiting their daughter and couldn’t make it.
“I know, Mrs. Eckhart. How are you?”
“Fine, dear. We’re doing just fine. I heard about what happened with Dane. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was a good thing.”
“You know what? I agree. After everything that Chris told us about him, I’m glad the wedding didn’t happen.”
I want to make more small talk, but I’m too wired to do anything but jump straight to the point. “Mrs. Eckhart, sorry to be abrupt, but is Chris there?”
“Chris?” she asks in a bewi
