Waiting For Ethan Read Online Free PDF Page A

return to my desk. Five minutes later, I still haven’t typed another word. I return to the refrigerator for an apple. Ten minutes later, when I toss the core into the trash, the only words on my screen are still “Dear Neesha.”
    How can it be so hard to think of something to say to someone I talked nonstop with until the age of fourteen? We used to sit next to each other on the bus on the way home from school, walk home from the bus stop together, and the minute we got inside our houses, we’d call each other. “How in the world can you have anything left to say to her?” my mother would ask. But there was always more because whatever thought popped in my head came out my mouth to Neesha’s ears. I have never confided with anyone else as much since.
    Okay, Gina. This shouldn’t be so hard. Offer condolences about Ajee. “I was sorry to learn of Ajee’s passing,” I write. “I always found her enchanting, and you and she are part of my best childhood memories.” I read it back to myself—a little corny, but it will do. What else? Of course, ask about her husband and children. “I imagine your husband looks like a grown-up version of Josh Levine,” I write. Will she even remember who Josh Levine is? Of course she will. He’s the first boy she ever kissed.
    How do I end? “I hope you’ll write back, Gina.” No, that’s almost like begging. “Love, Gina.” Love, we haven’t spoken in almost twenty years. I decide to go with “Your old friend, Gina Rossi.” Under it, I add my e-mail address. Then, before I lose my nerve, I walk the few blocks to the post office to mail the card.

Chapter 5
    S ince my parents left for Florida three weeks ago, I have been working twelve-hour days. I am a senior editor at TechVisions, a leading market research firm in New England. All day long I fix other people’s mistakes so that our clients never know the analysts whom they pay six figures to solve their business problems don’t know the difference between it’s and its ; their , there , and they’re ; sight , site , and cite ; and so on. Our customers want to know how their markets will perform and where they’ll be able to earn the biggest market share. Honestly, I think they would have better luck getting this information from someone like Ajee, who would probably charge a lot less and make more accurate predictions.
    I’m pretty sure the analysts just make up their forecasts. Last spring, for example, one of our top analysts boldly declared the technology market was over the worst of the economic slump. Based on this advice, TechVisions hired twenty-five new employees. Two weeks before Christmas the market was still underperforming so TechVisions laid off 30 percent of its workforce and surrendered 50 percent of its office space. The analyst who inaccurately predicted the rebound got to keep his job. Eight of ten editors did not. Luci Chin and I are the lucky ones who survived, and by lucky I mean that since the day pink slips were handed out, Luci and I have been forced to share an office the size of a bathroom stall and do the work of ten editors.
    Luci is thirty-nine and has never worked anywhere but TechVisions. Five years ago when I was interviewing for my job, I had to meet with her before being hired. As I sat in the windowless conference room waiting for her, I envisioned a bookish Chinese woman. Instead, a tall, thin Caucasian woman who looked like she should be walking a fashion runway in Paris sauntered into the room. “I’m Luci Chin,” she said, extending her hand. “Nice suit.” She sounded exactly like the waitress at the Chinese restaurant down the street from my apartment. I desperately searched her features for a hint of something that would reveal she was partially Chinese, but her long auburn hair, bright green eyes, and pale complexion led me to believe she was all Irish. I