“No problem.”
Wes closed down his program, and after filling a glass with water, lounged casually on the opposite counter of the kitchen. “Those are pretty handy.” He angled his head at the two containers she was putting in the oven.
“One of the ladies I go to school with told me about them. Fewer dishes, and when you’re tired after a long day, you don’t have to think about what’s for dinner.”
“My grandmother used to do that with the crockpot.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever used a crockpot,” Cara said diplomatically, not completely sure what one was. “If it’s low maintenance like this, I’m open to anything. Ask her what would be good for beginners.”
“Can’t. She’s dead.” His voice was flat.
“I’m so—”
“It was a long time ago. I was a kid.”
Cara shifted, wishing she had something to do with her hands. She shouldn’t ask. She barely knew him, and it was completely inappropriate! But now the question that had instantly formed at his comment was burning its way through her brain.
“Does it get easier?”
He frowned, his eyes holding hers in a level stare. “Grief?”
Cara wanted to tear her eyes away. She felt trapped and vulnerable. The black of his pupils seemed to bleed into the caramel as they bored into her.
“My father died last year.” Why did she tell him that? “I miss him.” She bit her lip, emotions she had pushed down over the last year threatening to surge up and choke her.
“It changes.” His voice was quiet. “But you never forget what you’ve lost. The hole is always there.”
“My brothers won’t talk about it. Everything changed when he died, and now they barely speak to each other. I don’t even know what they are so angry about. It feels like I lost my whole family that day!” She covered her mouth in horror. The words spilled out of her before she had registered them.
A dark cloud hovered over his face, and regret knotted in her stomach. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said…”
His throat bobbed. “Unfortunately, I know exactly what you mean. One minute everything is fine. The next your world is spinning, and you don’t know which way is up. People respond to grief differently. Sometimes anger is all they can manage.”
Cara thought about that. Was that why her brothers fought so much lately? As they grew to adulthood, they’d all chosen different paths, but each seemed to pick a path guaranteed to irritate one of the others. Luke was a criminal defense attorney, his twin, James, worked with a federal prosecutor, and Declan seemed to have followed in their father’s footsteps. Cut-throat and ruthless–anything to win.
“How did your parents—”
Wes cut her off. “My mother is gone, too, but my grandparents raised me.”
Her mouth fell open with a tiny gasp of dismay. “You were alone? How old were you?” Cara felt sick. She was a grown woman and still had her mother. He said he’d been a child….
His jaw sawed back and forth, but he didn’t walk away like she expected—that must mean something.
Maybe he needed to talk about it as much as she did.
“I had just turned fourteen.” He inhaled sharply through his nose. “There was no other family that would take me, so I ended up at the Children’s Home in Athens.”
“Oh, Wes!”
“One star—donotrecommend.” His lips twisted in a grotesque attempt at a smile, and he pushed away from the counter, carrying his glass to the table.
Cara was saved from responding by the oven timer—because what do you say to that? She had no experience with this at all. Her parents hadn’t been nurturing, but they’d been there—in their own ways—and she’d had Anne and Siobhan, her surrogate mothers. She carried the two containers to the table and took her seat.
Wes took a bite while Cara searched her brain for a way to gracefully break the tense silence that enveloped them.
“It wasn’t all bad,” Wes surprised her by saying, pushing a piece of broccoli around with his knife. “It’s where I met Melody. She was a year older, but she’d been in care most of her life.” He stabbed a piece of chicken.
“That’s awful.”