Claire, in exchange for allowing him to stay at her house, asked Jude to do chores. He dusted, cooked, vacuumed, bought groceries and did anything else that needed doing. He couldn't complain; it was easier than a full time job, and it kept him busy—most of the time. He actually resented those hours when he finished everything and sat down to watch TV where Claire's Grandma used to. His mind spun and whirled in every direction. He couldn't keep it still.

One day, when he was pushing a shopping cart through supermarket aisles, staring with glazed eyes at endless packaging and food labels, he heard footsteps approach and stop just behind him.

"Jude?" a too-familiar voice said. So startlingly familiar it made his stomach drop to his feet. The voice trembled with uncertainty.

He straightened his shoulders and forced himself to turn around.

"Jude,"  his mother repeated, this time a tearful affirmation. She reached out and circled her arms around him, drawing him tight. She pressed her face into his jacket, her head only up to his shoulder.

She pulled away. Her tears left two wet marks on either side of the jacket's logo.

Jude was frozen, almost staggering under the avalanche of memories unleashed by this reunion. His mother was crying just like after his sister had died. He could see her face overlapping his mother's. He felt like he was choking.

His parents and the police had questioned him nonstop after she died. What had they been doing out there in the woods? What exactly had he seen during the attack? What was the exact path they had taken? He'd had to relive it so many times, the worst thing that could have possibly happened. This was why he'd avoided his parents in the years since. He couldn't bear to look at them and remember it all. Her screams and the blood on the leaves. To remember the faces with a glint of blame in their eyes. And to agree with them that it was all his fault.

He was hyperventilating and his mother was staring at him, concerned, when he came back to reality. He thought he might break down crying if he said anything, so he didn't. He just stood there.

His father appeared from around the corner carrying a loaf of bread. "Son," he said, eyes wide, blinking rapidly.

"Jude, your room is just as you left it,"  his mother said. "You're welcome back any time."

"That's right," his father added. "We'd love to have you back at home for however long you want."

He could hear the pain in their voices. So quickly, they'd gone from having two kids in the house to zero. Had he hurt them even more by leaving?

"Have you been eating right?" His mother eyed him up and down. "I'll cook your old favorite or you, if you want. You look better than the last time I saw you, but still. You're skin and bone."

Jude realized he couldn't remember when that was. The last time he remembered seeing his parents was in the hospital, recovering from his attack.

There was one feeling he was deliberately ignoring. He missed them. He missed his parents so much. But he didn't think he deserved that unconditional love and forgiveness.

Jude left his cart full of groceries behind and rushed out of the store.

"Jude!" his father called. But he heard no one following him.