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“My mother died four years ago. My father was lost without her, and within six months he was gone, too.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, and there was no floundering this time; he might not know what it was like to live with such love, but he understood grief. “That must have been tough, losing them both like that.”
“I loved them dearly, but they would have wanted to be together. And they’d had very good lives.” She took a sip of her latte. “They were a bit too protective, I suppose. I was pretty sheltered. But I think that comes with being the only child of older parents.”
“So you were a late arrival?”
“Sort of. They adopted me when they were in their forties and realized they weren’t going to be able to have a biological child.”
He blinked, setting down his own cup of simple black coffee. “You were adopted?”
She nodded. “But they were the best parents I could ever have had. The always made me feel special. Chosen. I can’t imagine a biological child feeling any more loved than I was.”
“You were lucky.” His voice was a little tight.
“Yes, I was. Whoever my birth mother was, she did the best thing for me she could ever have done.”
“Gave you to parents who could love you.”
“Yes.”
There was no denying the taut emotion in his words. It struck her suddenly that she had indeed been lucky, luckier than some children who stayed with their natural parents. She wondered if Luke had ever wished his mother had given him up, given him a chance at loving parents. And then she wondered how could he not; it would almost have to be better than living with a mother who, to judge by her speeches, blamed his existence for ruining her life.
“I think,” she said softly, “I was even luckier than I realized.”
He looked at her for a long, silent moment. He didn’t pretend not to understand what she meant. “My mother had her reasons.”
“But none of them were your fault.”
His eyes narrowed. “Just how much do you know?”
She wished she hadn’t said it; the way he was looking at her, it was all she could do not to dodge his gaze. “I’ve heard your mother speak about the disaster teenage pregnancy can make of a life. I’ve seen you both, close enough to guess at ages. And—” she took a breath before finishing “—I can do math.”
He sat back. His mouth twisted up at one corner, and the opposite dark brow rose. “Clever girl.”
She bit her lip; she knew she should have kept quiet.
She’d meant to express compassion and had only antagonized him.
“I only meant that…she’s wrong to blame you. It’s not like you had a choice.”
“When I’d been away long enough, I realized she probably didn’t have much choice, either.”
“But she could have given you up to someone—” She stopped as he lifted a hand.
“She couldn’t. Her mother wouldn’t allow it.”
“Your grandmother?”
He laughed. “Not if you asked her. She died when I was thirteen, and she never once acknowledged I was connected to her in any way. I wasn’t her grandson, I was her daughter’s punishment.”
There hadn’t been a trace of anger, self-pity, or even regret in his tone. He had clearly dealt with all this long ago. But it made Amelia shiver. “My God. How did you stand it?”
“I didn’t. Not very well, anyway. I went a little crazy. But then, you know that.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know why you didn’t burn the entire town to the ground.”
He stared at her for a moment, then gave a sharp shake of his head. “What I don’t know,” he said, sounding surprised and more than a little rueful, “is why I told you all that.”
He drained his coffee, got up and tossed his cup in the recycle bin left out for the purpose. The conversation, it seemed, was over. She got to her feet, a little surprised that she was fairly steady; being with Luke was, in its own way, as unsettling as her encounter with David’s friends.
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