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“I’m going home for the weekend.”
“To Falmouth?”
He remembered? “Yes. I haven’t been for a while, but I’m driving up there tonight. I can’t wait.”
He smiles. “It must be nice to have that kind of relationship with your parents.”
“What kind of relationship?”
“One where you look forward to seeing them.”
The smile is still touching his lips, but his eyes are so sad, I can’t leave it there. “You don’t have that kind of relationship with yours?”
He shakes his head. “I can’t. My dad’s dead…”
I could kick myself. “Of course. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
I’m almost scared to ask… “What about your mom?”
“She left us. Years ago.”
“And you don’t talk to her anymore?”
“I haven’t spoken to her since she the day she walked out. None of us have.”
“None of you?” I lean a little closer to him, my confusion making it hard for me to remember that this is the real world, not a dream.
“Yeah, my brother and sister.”
“I didn’t know you had a brother and a sister.”
He nods his head. “My brother’s name is Drew.”
“And none of you have spoken to your mom?”
“No. She left when I was eleven.” My mouth drops open, although I snap it shut again. “Drew was six and Ella was only three. Neither of them really remembers her… but I do.”
The sorrow in his voice makes my heart ache for him and looking into his eyes, I don’t see a man, but a lost and lonely little boy.
“What do you remember?” The question leaves my lips before I can stop it, but I don’t want to take it back. I want to know. I want to listen… to help him find his way back, if I can.
Part of me expects him to tell me it’s none of my business. But he doesn’t. He gazes down at me. “I remember her smile, her laugh… the sadness in her eyes.”
“Sadness?”
“Yeah. My dad used to make her sad. He made her cry… a lot. I used to hold her and tell her it would be okay. Deep down, I knew it wouldn’t be, but you know how it is when you’re a child and you think you can make everything better, just with words and gestures?” I nod my head, knowing exactly what he means. I feel like that myself, right now. Only I’m not a child.
“It wasn’t your job to make it better, Hunter.” He frowns, like he doesn’t agree. “You were eleven years old.”
His frown deepens. “I hated him for hurting her.”
“Was that why she left? Because he hurt her?”
“It wasn’t as simple as that.” I sense there’s something he’s holding back; something he doesn’t want to talk about… or maybe doesn’t know himself.
“She never contacted you?”
