“Well, my mother never did that,” Rad said before he could decide not to. “She wasn’t interested in his work. She wasn’t interested in much that mattered to him, if I’m being honest.”
His jaw tightened.
“When did you last see your mother?” June asked.
“I haven’t seen her since she left,” Rad answered. “I was three at the time.”
“You haven’t heard from her since she left your father?” June gasped.
“Not a phone call. Not a birthday card. Not even a Christmas card sent out of obligation. I’m not sure she even knows she has a grandson.” Rad snorted. “But it’s fine. My father was always there, and so was my grandmother. Then there was Uncle Abe. So I had all the family I needed.”
June’s hand came to rest gently on his forearm. It was a small touch, warm and maternal and so entirely free of hesitation that it nearly undid him.
“I’m sorry, Rad,” she said quietly. “I truly can’t understand how any mother or grandmother could do that.”
“She was never very maternal,” Rad said.
The words felt strange in his mouth, not because they were untrue, but because he had never said them out loud to anyonebefore. Not like this. Not in a way that stripped the situation down to what it was without trying to dress it up with excuses.
A few houses slipped past. The headlights’ beam caught white fences, low palms, and neat driveways.
“I can’t even imagine just leaving my child,” June told him.
“I used to imagine I had a mother like you,” Rad said before he could stop himself.
The moment the words were out, he almost regretted them. Not because they were false, but because they were too honest.
He glanced at June.
Her eyes misted immediately, and the smile that touched her face was so soft it made his chest ache.
“I often wished for a second child, a son, and I would’ve been very proud if he had turned out like you.”
A lump rose in Rad’s throat so fast and hard that for a second he could not speak at all.
He gripped the steering wheel more tightly and looked straight ahead.
She really was remarkable.
He still could not quite understand how his father had let her go and then ended up with someone like his mother, Lillian Forester. Life made no sense sometimes. Or maybe people simply didn’t understand the value of what they had until it was no longer theirs.
“Why didn’t you have another child?” Rad asked, then winced immediately. “I’m sorry. That was too personal.”
June shook her head. “No. It’s all right.” She was quiet for a second. “My husband had an accident that left him unable to father children.”
Rad felt his stomach dip. “Now it’s my turn to say I’m sorry.”
“At least I had Willa. And later the grandchildren.” She gave him a small, accepting smile.
“She’s great,” Rad said. “I would have loved having someone like her as an older sister.”
The second the words left him, something flickered across June’s face.
It was there and gone too quickly for him to read properly. Surprise, maybe. Or pain. Or some emotion too layered to name in a passing glance.
Then it vanished.
“Yes,” June said, her voice warm again. “Willa is very special. I was lucky to be blessed with a daughter like her. She is my pride and joy, right alongside my grandchildren.”
