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“You’re right,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
The apology surprises me.
Adults don’t apologize to teenagers.
At least, none of the adults I’ve known did.
“A truck driver brought me close to here,” I say. “He gave me two hundred dollars for a motel.”
“Did he touch you?” Will asks.
“No. He was nice. I have his name and address. I’m going to repay him.”
“You don’t have to repay someone for being decent,” Arthur says.
“I promised.”
“How many people did you promise to repay?” Sean asks.
“Six.”
His eyes close for a moment.
“I wrote down every name and address.”
“Of course you did,” he whispers.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He gets up and walks around the table.
I stiffen when he comes close, but he kneels beside my chair instead of towering over me.
“I need to ask you something.”
“All right.”
“Why did you wait outside instead of calling from the gate?”
“I didn’t know what you would say.”
“You thought I might turn you away?”
“I thought you might have a wife and children who wouldn’t want me here.”
Pain moves across his face.
“I don’t have a wife.”
“Children?”
His gaze holds mine.
“I have one daughter.”
My chest tightens.
