Auggie couldn't bring himself to give the order.
Siri, call Danielle. That was all he needed to say, but his voice was shaking. There was nothing he couldn't deal with, no lie he couldn't bring himself to tell. Until this.
This was everything Danielle ever feared. The reason she once kicked Annie out of her house. Annie was the girls' godmother, he realized with a pang in his chest. There was nothing worse than having to tell someone their loved ones weren't coming back. And he would know.
When Helen died, Auggie had been tasked with telling her family. He'd called the Hansons of Rightmire Road in Boston, Massachusetts, and informed them that their Helen, their only daughter, was dead. The difference was, then he'd believed it. Then, it wasn't a lie. Then, he'd taken a week off and gone to be with them in person. Her mother had sobbed into his shirt and her dad had embraced him with shaky hands and watery eyes. He'd mourned and grieved with them. It ranked as one of the worst days of his life.
Auggie had agonized about the idea of leaving this news via voicemail, and was flooded with relief when that became a non-issue. Even still, the words were bitter in his mouth. Auggie actually liked Danielle, and he knew she'd reciprocated. She wasn't always the most cheerful, or the most cohesive when it came to Annie, but she'd always been sweet to Auggie.
She was screaming as if she'd been stabbed, and Auggie heard the phone hit the floor. He grimaced, muscles rigid.
"Danielle, I'm so sorry," he gasped.
He listened for a long time as she sobbed. It wasn't fair. All he wanted to do was let her in on the secret, but it wasn't his to tell. He had to sit back and trust Annie. Trust that she knew what she was doing and that she would return to him. He would put on any front, tell any lie, because this was all going to end up for the greater good. At least, that was the idea. And he wanted to believe.
He wondered where Annie would be by now.
Wherever it was, he hoped she was happy.