Chapter Eleven
The food in my mouth loses all sweetness.
His parents are dead?
I picture a little Art, orphaned, and a knot forms in my throat. “I’m so, so sorry.”
He gives me a tight smile. “It’s okay.”
No. It’s not. I reach out and cover his large hand with mine. “May I ask what happened?”
He lifts one broad shoulder in a shrug. “It was a bus accident. I learned the details from news articles when I was older. The driver lost control on an icy road, and the bus hit a truck, killing my parents along with several other passengers.”
I squeeze his hand. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. It was long ago.”
I bite my lip. “So… were you raised by some relatives?”
“The government, actually,” he says as I pull my hand back. He sounds casual now, as if all of this is truly old news.
