Page 25 of Knowing Amelia

He shakes his head, breathing out a laugh. “Good.”

We sit at the table and Logan removes the foil. Then he pulls another paper plate from beneath the first. Standing, more comfortable in Amelia’s home than I am, it seems, he walks to the kitchen and opens a drawer. “Do you mind?”

“Uh, no, go ahead.”

In seconds, he’s retrieved two forks and a serving spoon and is back at the small rectangular wooden table. He scoops half the pasta onto the second plate, and my stomach grumbles in approval.

Logan pushes the plate in front of me, and his bicep seems to appear with the small movement. “Thanks.” One should not stare at one’s new friend and neighbor. Especially when one of those ones has a boyfriend! “Water! Can I get you some water?”

“Sure, thanks.”

I rush to the sink, and after opening three cupboards, I find a couple of glasses. All the while, I fill my head with thoughts of Benjamin. Seeing how I’m still freshly annoyed with him, though, it isn’t all that helpful. I take a deep breath, fill our cups, and chant in my head, I love Ben. I have to admit, at this very moment, it’s a hard sell. If only he’d listen to me and try to understand where I’m coming from.

I set a glass in front of Logan, forcing my eyes to stay on my plate. No looking at Logan’s bicep. “This looks delicious. Did you make it?”

“Who else?”

“You don’t live with anyone else?” I say, feeling a little like Mom and Dad’s very nosy neighbor Mrs. Shim. But the question leaves my mouth before I have time to think. And I want to know about this boy-turned-man. I’m not trying to be nosy. I’m trying to get to know him.

“No, it’s just been me for years.”

“You live in your grandparents’ house, right?”

“Yes.” His head tilts, his eyes narrowed in question.

“Oh, uh, my dad. He mentioned your mother grew up in the house next door. They went to school together. Did you know?”

He sets his fork down, his jaw tightening. “No, I didn’t. It’s my home now. I gained it very much the same way you did this one.”

“Your grandparents left it to you?”

“They left it to my parents. My parents left it to me.”

A shiver trails down my spine. “Oh.” Does that mean what I think it means? “So, where do they live now?” I don’t want to pry, but I can’t help but hope… Logan is too young to have lost his parents—not both, not yet.

“No,” he says, confirming my fear. “They’ve passed away.”

Why did I make him say it? It was implied. But I had to ask.

“I’m sorry.” How long has he been alone? Dad is almost fifty-seven, with only a speck of gray hair. He golfs, skis, and hikes. I can’t imagine him as anything but active and healthy. “They must have been young.”

“They were.”

Once again, my curiosity beats out my manners. “How old were you?”

“Seventeen.”

“What happened?” I nibble on my lip, my heart thumping. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Logan shakes his head. “I don’t mind. I’d rather you ask than assume.” He says it as though things have been assumed concerning them. I think of Dad and his judgments. “Seven years ago, they were driving home from Cody when a storm hit. They weren’t drinking. No one fell asleep. They had bad luck in horrible weather.”

My brows knit. “Why would someone assume they’d been drinking?”

“My parents married young—not because they had to, but because they loved each other. They stayed in this town because it made them happy—not because they weren’t intelligent enough to escape. People who don’t really know them have always assumed they made poor choices, down to their deaths.”

Is he talking about my father? Or maybe every other person they’d gone to school with? I reach across the table and place my hand over his. I don’t know what to say. I don’t understand this kind of pain. The briefest details of his story make my heart hurt. I cannot imagine how he must feel. “I’m sorry.”

The corners of his mouth lift in a kind smile. “Thank you.”