Andy kept one hand on his mother’s elbow as she climbed back into the Bentley—not that she needed his help, but he’d been drilled on this formality since he had been deemed old enough to accompany her on her visiting rounds. God, he’d forgotten how utterly tedious this was, but it was almost worth it to see the way she preened and sparkled.
Maybe Tiffany’d had a point. Of course, after some thought, Andy felt like he had a point, too, which was that a seventeen-year-old shouldn’t be expected to be his parent’s sole emotional support. But Tiffany hadn’t been entirely wrong, either. He could’ve at least written occasionally.
“Thank you, dear,” Eleanor said, and Andy backed away so Kenny could close the door.
Andy caught Kenny’s arm. “Hey, Ken…I know there’s no privacy screen in this one,
