Sylvie waited to speak until he’d wheeled the van in the direction of Spring Gulch and the house that Andrew was beginning to think of as home. “That’s a nice set-up they have there.”
“State of the art equipment.” Andrew cast a sideways glance. “This is really a progressive community. I see why you like it here.”
She relaxed back against the worn seatback. “It feels like home.”
“Tell me what home was like for you.”
She shot him a puzzled look, waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve told you all that before.”
That was only partially the truth. Sylvie had told him the area of south Boston where she’d lived until fourth grade. She’d told him her father left when she was four and her mother took off when she was nine. He knew she’d found herself in the foster care until she’d aged out. He’d tried to get her to tell him more about those times, but when she deflected the questions, he’d respected what he saw as her need for privacy.
Now Andrew wondered if that concern for her privacy had been a cop-out. It had hurt to think of the life she’d once led. Perhaps he didn’t want to be reminded of it. The problem was, to know her, he needed to know her secrets.
“Tell me about what you remember when your father left.” It was only the first of many questions he planned to ask. Discovering what made her tick was what this trip was all about. And Andrew wasn’t leaving until he knew all of Sylvie’s secrets.