Between the Roots Read Free Page B

few minutes, alone.
    Sammy joined his mother at the back of the room, not the best location to observe the old man and the girl. Probably his granddaughter, Sammy thought.
    "That was a kind gesture, Sammy," his mother said. "Especially after that circus show Mr. Wade put on. For a minute I thought I'd brought my work with me."
    "Yeah, what was bugging that guy?"
    "He's one of the new developers that keeps coming into City Hall. He's an agitator, wants to condemn the old Colony, build a vacation Mecca, pump money back into the town, but more likely into his pocket. Don't get me started. I get enough of it at work."
    As he licked the dripping cone, Sammy tried to watch the old man. Several times he readjusted himself to get a better view of Walt's table.
    "She is cute, but a little young for you, Sammy," his mother teased.
    "What are you talking about?" Sammy tried to appear bored. He hadn't even thought to really look at the girl. Pretending to check out the rest of the small parlor, he glanced once again in Walt's direction. He was gone! His table was already being occupied. Then he saw them standing just outside the door. Walt turned toward the ice cream shop.
    Sammy wanted to yell, Wait, stop! I have to know about the walled forest. Don't leave. He wanted to get up from his table and chase after them. Wait, I need to know where to find you. I need to talk. I want to sleep. He sat there staring after them, saturated with disappointment.
    His mother reached across the table and patted his arm. "So, my son is growing up!"
    "Yep, she was a real looker, Mom!"

Chapter Three: Breaking the Promise
    A N EXHAUSTED SAMMY greeted Monday with doubt about his own memory. The robed people from the forest and their mysterious activity began to acquire a dream-like quality: hands floating through swirls of mist, trees swaying to a haunting rhythm while birds and deer closed in about him, trying to drive him closer to the dark figures that held the weed-draped body of an old woman. The scene pulsed in his mind, alternating vivid and dark colors that confused him all the more. Even his return to the walled forest seemed unreal. Lack of sleep was robbing him of self-trust. Had he really met a man named Walt, and seen him at the ice cream shop?
    He knew he must tell someone the incredible story. Deciding whom to confide in was easy. His buddy, John, had been his best friend since first grade. But how would he keep John quiet? They had more incriminating stories on each other than sidewalks had cracks. An outrageous list: egging houses, placing ketchup and mustard packets under toilet seats — even putting a dead frog in a box and secretly mailing it to John's grandma.
    Feeling nauseated with tiredness, Sammy forced himself to remember one outrageous story he could hold over John. There were a couple gems he recalled for the perfect occasion. No one else knew that John had put watered honey in the shampoo bottle and pretended to drink it in front of his baby sister, telling her how yummy it was just before switching bottles to the real thing. John guiltily confessed to Sammy after his sister had been taken to the hospital. Fortunately, the shampoo had not been toxic.
    John's parents had very different parenting styles. His mother would have let John off with a reprimand; his dad wouldn't. John's mother was soft-hearted and devoted all her time to her children. Whenever possible she turned chores into games, usually races against the clock: how many things can you pick up in a minute, how many songs does it take to do the dishes, or beat the stranger from snatching misplaced toys? John's younger siblings fell for her silliness. And then there was his father, an ogre, a man who didn't believe in second chances. He said a job was a job, not a game to coax good behavior. So around his father, John learned discipline.
    To tell John his secret, he needed to blackmail him into keeping it. He needed to think of something he knew that would enrage