The Gardener Read Free Page A

only problem with the area around Jack’s cabin was that the trails were steep and did get treacherous in downpours like we’d been having. I told him, “I still wanna get out of town. We can always just play Halo.”
    When he reached my driveway, I said, “Call me if you get off early.” I got out and slammed the door.
    “Watch it!”
    I waved my hand without looking back.
    Inside, the house was quiet. “Mom? You home?” I waited for a response, but there was none, so I made a couple of bologna sandwiches and sat down at the table, pulling my biology book and the slightly wrinkled TroDyn application out of my backpack. Mom wouldn’t be as supportive as Hogan. I’d decided my plan was to forge her signature and tell her I got a job for the summer. I knew her signature was always handy on the fridge in the form of that month’s rent check, pinned in place by a strawberry-shaped magnet. But the check wasn’t there.
    I knelt and looked around the floor first, then up at the calendar. The twenty-eighth. Wow, she must have paid rent early for once.
    After finishing my second sandwich, I wondered if her signature was on something else. Canceled checks maybe. So I headed into her room, where she kept the little brown filing cabinet, and I yanked the handle. Locked, as always. I’d seen the drawers open before, like when I needed my birth certificate or something else official. But then Mom always locked it back up.
    The phone by Mom’s bed startled me. I grabbed it on the beginning of the second ring.
    “Honey?”
    “Mom?”
    “Can you come get me? I’m at the Brass Rail.” Her words slurred.
    My hand clenched the phone and my shoulders slumped. Although I already knew the answer, I asked, “What are you doing?”
    “I just stopped by for a quick shot, I swear.”
    Sounded more like several quick shots to me. I sighed. “Okay, I’m coming.” Snatching the car keys off her nightstand, I hurried outside.
    Never mind that I wouldn’t get my license for another four months, when I turned sixteen, I’d been driving my mother around town for the last year. Before that, when she got in one of her moods, she did a lot of walking home from bars. It didn’t happen that often, my driving. But it happened more than it should, I suppose. Especially recently, when she seemed to be having way more of her moods than usual.
    I backed the Jeep out of the driveway and headed downtown, meaning via the one street in town that went straight through. Melby Falls was about ten miles off I-5, and I couldn’t think of many reasons for anyone ever to visit. We did have our own TroDyn-funded municipal police force, one member of which waved to me as I turned onto Main Street. As long as you didn’t break laws flamboyantly, they left you alone. Handy for underage drivers like myself.
    I pulled into the handicapped space by the front door of the Brass Rail, just as the front door was flung open and my mother came out, escorted by a burly man in a red polo. He’d bounced Mom before. I didn’t know his name, but I’m pretty sure something on the order of Bubba would fit.
    Mom wore jeans and a white sweater, which had some kind of reddish stain all down the front. Her dark hair blew in her face as she tried to smile at me. “Mason.”
    Bubba wrenched open the Jeep’s door and practically shoved her up into the seat.
    Despite being pissed at my mom for getting drunk, I wasn’t going to let someone hurt her. I knew it must have been hard for her, raising me on her own, working at a job she didn’t like. Having a few too many drinks once in a while didn’t make her a bad mother. “Hey, take it easy.” Resisting the urge to step out of the car and show Bubba Iwasn’t afraid to take him, I gripped Mom’s arm and helped her in.
    Bubba’s gaze fixed on my scar before going back up to meet my eyes. His voice was low and firm. “Take her home, sober her up. And keep her out of here. Better for her if she keeps her opinions to