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Prologue
Jax
Twenty-five years ago
My mom’s favorite flowers were red roses, but by the time I walked to the grocery store—the money I’d been saving from chores for the past two months wadded up in the pocket of my jeans—they were gone. It was my own fault, really. I waited until Valentine’s Day to get them, and by the time I got out of school and waited for her to fall asleep while she watchedGeneral Hospital,all that was left at the store was an almost empty black bucket with a sad looking bunch of daisies drooping in the corner. The crinkly paper around them was bright pink, and I tried bunching them together as I walked home, to see if it made them look a little bit nicer.
It didn’t. I found a big box of chocolates though, and threw that in my shopping basket, and then wandered down the next aisle and checked the prices on a new basketball because mine had gone flat. I was careful not to squish the flowers with the ball, because they were already small enough as it is.
But I still bought them though, with my own money, because she was always talking on her birthday and Valentine’s Day about how the only thing she wanted wassomeone to bring her something pretty, for someone to be thinking about her.
I thought about her all the time, but maybe most kids were like that with their moms. She was silly and young and all my friends at school thought she was a fun mom, or the jackasses in the grade above me said she was the hottest one too, probably because she was only sixteen when she had me. And I guess she was fun sometimes. When we had ice cream for breakfast, and chocolate cake for dinner. When she let me skip school when she felt like sleeping in. That stuff was cool. But usually she was just tired at home, because she worked two jobs. That kept her busy enough, but her most important job, she said, was trying to find me a new dad.
Hadn’t worked yet, but she sure tried hard.
Some were nicer than others. Some made me want to punch them in the balls. Most ignored me, and that was fine, too. But usually, they weren’t around long enough for me to get used to them. When they were gone, she’d mope for a while—that’s when we’d have cake for dinner—because she had to see them at the grocery store or at church or at the coffee shop. After a few weeks, or a month, she’d snap out of her funk, and try to find someone else. But it hadn’t worked this time. According to her, they were all assholes or married, or both.
That’s why on this Valentine’s Day, my mom didn’t have anyone to buy her flowers. She’d cried for days because she didn’t have someone to take her for a nice dinner.
That’s when I thought,I could buy her flowers. I’m almost eleven. That’s practically a teenager.
So I saved up my money. I asked neighbors if they had chores that needed to be done, and most gave me something little, even if they got a sad look in their eye when they paid me a buck or two. Definitely wasn’t enough for a nice bouquet. Thankfully, Mr. Henry across the street gave me the good paying jobs.
I got ten dollars to pick up sticks in his yard after a storm blew through. And he gave me fifteen dollars to help him wash windows. Another ten when I helped him wash his car. I spent some of that already, because I needed a new helmet for riding my bike, and Mom kept forgetting to buy me one. But the best was the twenty-five bucks I got when I helped him paint the railing on the back porch.
“It’s important this looks nice,” he said, showing me how to turn the brush just right so I didn’t spill paint everywhere. “I spend a lot of time in this backyard, young man.”
He had a nice one too, with a big deck covered in expensive furniture, and a big, pretty meadow as far as the eye could see, bursting at the seams with wildflowers. All the kids in the neighborhood were allowed to play back there, as long as we respected nature, he said.
I probably could’ve picked her flowers from the field, but I knew her well enough … she’d want the fancy ones.
When I finally finished at the store and walked home—the smallest one on the street—I puffed my chest out and smiled a little when I thought about how excited she’d be that someone got her flowers. It may not be as good as jewelry or some big fancy dinner, but I was still the man of the house, right? Carefully, I unlocked the door and walked in. The couch was empty, so she’d woken up from her nap.
“Mom?” I called. She didn’t answer, but I heard noises coming from her bedroom at the back of the house. Before she could come out of her room, I dragged a chair over to the front of the fridge and pulled open the cabinet where she kept the vases. We only had a couple, but with my tongue tucked between my teeth and really careful movements, I could reach the pretty green one with the wavy edges. It was her favorite. She’d love them even more in that. Maybe she’d even put them right in the middle of the table, where we’d see them every time we ate. Clutching it to my chest, I climbed downfrom the chair and set the vase on the edge of the kitchen counter.
I scratched the side of my head, because I didn’t know how the heck to make them look nice in there, especially not such a dinky little bouquet.
Her bedroom door flew open, and she rushed into the kitchen, her red robe tight around her body and her hair wrapped in curlers.
“Where’d you go?” she asked.
“Went to the store,” I told her, wiping under my nose. “I got?—”
“You’re gonna need to feed yourself tonight, Jax,” she interrupted, her attention on the mirror on the wall above the circular table where we took our meals. She started pulling the curlers out, her blonde hair falling in big circles around her shoulders. “There’s stuff to make sandwiches in the fridge, or you can order a pizza with all that money that old man’s been giving you.” She eyed me in the mirror. “You got enough for pizza?”
My belly tightened nervously. “No. I spent it.”
Her brows dipped. “On what?”
I edged behind her and clutched the edge of the pink, crinkled paper. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Mom.” I swallowed when she didn’t look right away. “I bought you these, because you said you wanted some.”
She froze, glancing down at the flowers tight in my sweaty hand. Her eyebrows dipped again. “Why’d you spend your money on flowers?”
“You said you wanted some,” I said quietly. “Didn’t you?”
Mom gave me a tight smile. “I wanted some from a boyfriend, or a husband. It’s nice you thought of me, but I think you wasted all your money, bud. That’s not really what I need from you, if that makes sense. I just need you to be a good boy and take care of yourself tonight.”
Something heavy in my stomach dropped down into myfeet, and my eyes felt like I’d rubbed sand in them. The daisies looked even smaller in my hand. “Oh. Okay.”
