© 2021 by Ireland Rea. All rights reserved.
My duffel was now slung over his arm as if it we’re his own, he rubbed his chin as if he was thinking.
“How old were you when you met my mom?”
Or course it’s fine. I’ll see you in the rising.
Smiling at the text I quickly glanced at him not wanting to portray I was ignoring him.
“I was seven. How old were you when you left?”
I paused, not sure if he would answer the question, but the ease in his expression didn't change.
“Fifteen.”
“Oh wow.” Reacting without thinking I was intrigued, Irene never told me the story in detail. This was the most information I've ever gotten.
“That’s pretty young to just up and leave.”
He shrugged in reply.
“It was needed at the time.”
