Page 62 of The Huckleberry Bookshop

“There was no reason for my parents to stay together after that.”

“Yes there was!” Horrified, she looked him straight in the eye, wrapping her hands around his.

“Well, it wasn’t enough. They split. Went on with their lives. Left me behind.”

“Literally?” She withdrew her hands, indignation rising on his behalf.

“No. Sort of. It’s just—I shouldn’t complain. I had food on the table. A car to drive once I was old enough.”

And yet she could see the layers of pain and the shadows it had left behind.

His hands bunched into fists on the counter like he wanted to lift his hands and bang them down on something to release what he felt inside.

“The conference you were at—Sunshine something? Parents of kids with special needs?” she prompted gently. “Tell me about how that fits into your life. Did they help your sister?”

He shook his head. “They help organize and fund qualified respite care for families when they need a bit of time off. An hour or two here and there.”

“They helped your family?”

He shook his head again. “We didn’t qualify financially. My parents were both lawyers.”

“They’re not any longer?”

“My dad quit. Sold off our house and everything in it.” There was a bitterness in his tone. “Gave it all to the church and he’s now somewhere in Africa doing who knows what.”

“When did he go?”

“The day after I graduated high school.”

“And your mom?”

“She moved out a few weeks after my sister…” His voice faded and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “She has a one-bedroom condo. Still works eighty hours a week.”

Athena wondered where Chad had gone over Christmas, her heart hurting at the idea that he might have been alone.

“So your family didn’t use the Sunshine organization, but you support them?”

“They do good things. They help take care of caregivers so they can do their best.” He’d brightened slightly, and she could see that being involved with the organization was a ray of sunshine in his life, a connection of sorts.

“And so that was the photo op? You making a donation?”

“It was only supposed to take five minutes. Me, an oversized check, a couple of handshakes. A hello-goodbye.”

“But then?”

His expression drifted into a memory she’d love to understand.

“You saw someone you knew?” she guessed.

“Yeah.” His leg started jiggling, his lower lip dipping under his front teeth. “Some families I hadn’t seen in years. We’d go to the socials and support groups together when I was a kid. We got chatting and I lost track of time.”

“What were you doing when I came in?” she asked, thinking about the circle, the damp eyes and the calm, soothing tone he’d been using. Understanding, empathy and kindness. An entirely different side of Mr. Chad Mullens compared to his sports-hero image.

“Oh.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, leaving it a mess. “Therapy?” He winced at her.

Adorable. Chadwick Mullens was like a lost, lonely child she wanted to hug and hold, keep safe.

Wait. Therapy?

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