“Hm. I don’t know about easier,” he says after some thought. “You just get used to it, you know? You get used to missing them. Familiar kind of ache.”
He gives me a kindly smile through the rearview mirror and goes back to looking at the road. On any other day, I would be committing every detail of his face to memory so that I could draw it later. The bulbous nose, the paper-thin skin around his eyes that crinkles when he smiles.
But my head is too full of unanswered questions to appreciate what I usually appreciate—the simple humanity of another living, breathing person in this universe.
I’m too worried about my own people. About Mia, about Rob, about Mom.
Worried about Aleks as well, of course, albeit in a completely different way. And I will not be entertaining thoughts on that subj
