I suck in a sharp breath. Oh God, the number of times I’ve made mom jokes. I want to throw up.

I stop walking. So does he.

“I’m sorry,” I say, touching his arm.

After a long moment, he dips his chin in acknowledgment.

“How… ?”

“ALS.”

Oh God, ALS is brutal. A tragic way to go—and a tragic condition for family to witness. To lose your mother to a degenerative disease like that… No wonder he took a step back in his career after a hiatus. He probably didn’t need the stress.

I open my mouth, but what words could possibly be sufficient in this scenario? I lift my gaze to his, letting him see my utter sincerity. “I’m so sorry.”

Inhaling deeply, he starts walking again. “Actually, I was one of the lucky ones. She was diagnosed the summer before my senior year of college, and I had another seven years with her. Most patients don’t even last five.”

That explains the college transfer his senior year—he was coming home to take care of his mom. On an impulse, I reach for Graeme’s hand. His palm is hot and heavy in mine and he stops walking.

I look up into his steely blue eyes. Behind the acceptance, grief hangs over him like a ghostly shadow. I squeeze his hand, putting every ounce of sympathy I can muster into the gesture. “The fact that you’re standing here right now, working, thriving… you’re the strongest person I know.”

His eyes widen and his jaw goes slack, but he squeezes my hand once in silent thanks before letting go. Running a palm roughly over the back of his neck, he resumes his slow, meandering gait.

“I wrote to my cousin Ryan. He lives in Seattle. I haven’t talked to him in a while, so he’ll be surprised,” Graeme says, patting his pants pocket where I can see the faint outline of a postcard. Ryan must be the one from Instagram. “I don’t know why I brought up my mom. I don’t usually like talking about her.”

“Too painful?”

He shakes his head slowly. “I can’t stand the pity. It’s why I quit social media.”

“People offer sympathy because they care,” I say quietly.

The corner of his lips twitches again. “Always looking on the bright side. You’re a good person, Henley.”

I pluck the strap of the tote across my chest and squint at the setting sun’s reflection on the water. “I’m really not.”