“You remember that?”
I remember every word you’ve ever said to me.Tim stuffed the thought away. “You mentioned it,” he said stiffly. He glanced at the carton of books. “How did you like the Diggs book?”
“I haven’t read it yet. Sorry. Did you want it back?”
“No. Keep it.”
He should go.
“I’m worried she’s following in my footsteps. Running away,” Dee said.
She was talking about her sister, he reminded himself. “Running away? Or running toward something?”
Those wide brown eyes met his. “Running toward what?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps that’s what”—you—“she had to leave home to find out.”
“Maybe.” She bit her lip. “I just keep thinking if I hadn’t left, she’d still be in school.”
Hm. “How old was she when your mother died?”
“Four. But even before that... Our mother was Judy Gale.” She said it like he should know the name. “The artist? She’s famous,” Dee said earnestly. “She exhibited all over theworld. But she was gone a lot.”
“Where was your father?”
“California? Colorado? Someplace like that. He was married. Is married, I think. Not to my mother. To someone else. And Mom met Toni’s father when she was doing an installation in Elba. I’m not sure she knew his name. She was kind of casual about things like that. Even when she was there... She wasn’t really there, you know? I was the one Toni could count on.”
Which explained her reluctance to turn to others, he thought. When you were always expected to take care of things, it became hard to ask for help.
“But you had your aunt and uncle.”
“Sure. We were lucky they were willing to take us in. Uncle Henry was Mom’s brother. Aunt Em never had any kids of her own. Maybe that’s why I always felt I had to look out for Toni.”
“Or your aunt didn’t want to interfere. Your mother had just died. Perhaps she saw that you needed each other.”
Dee nodded. “To feel useful.”
“Valued.”
“Loved,” she said softly.
“Er... Yes.”
“What about you?”
He stiffened. “Me?”
“Any brothers or sisters?” she clarified.
“No.” The word felt stingy in the face of her warm interest. “Only child to elderly parents,” he added.
“That must have been lonely for you.”
“Not lonely.” You didn’t miss what you never had. “Quiet, perhaps.”
“I was quiet, too. I didn’t want to be in the way.”
“I never felt in the way.” Growing up without other children around, he had simply followed his parents’ schedule, adopted their habits. But he’d never doubted that they wanted him. Loved him. “I read a lot,” he offered.
