Buried by Robin Merrow MacCready Read Free Book Online

much, only till he reaches his Pleasure Zone, right?”
    She downshifted and turned onto Beach Avenue. “He used to do that, but now it’s more and more.”
    â€œYou want to borrow that book with the exercises in it?”
    â€œMaybe.” She closed the window. “I guess.”
    â€œRemind me when we get inside.”
    â€œMaybe I just need to talk to him. Like you and your mom did.”
    An unexpected lump filled my throat, and I swallowed hard as we turned the corner of Sea Spray Acres, pulled over, and parked in front of the trailer.
    â€œThanks for helping me with this report. I’d be dead without you.”
    I stared out the windshield at the nose of Mom’s white VW, parked like she’d never even left. My heart thudded, and for a second I thought she might be home.
    â€œClaude?” Liz shook my shoulder. “Claude?”
    â€œIt’s nothing.” I got out of the car and walked to the steps.
    Liz lagged behind, looking out at the garden. “Wow, I haven’t been here since—”
    â€œForever?”
    â€œYeah, since that time—” she said.
    â€œThat time you came to pick me up for a sleepover and Mom was smashed out of her mind and tried to hug you and you freaked out and waited in your van with your freaked-out mother.”
    She laughed. “I was a little surprised, that’s all.” She stepped closer to the garden. “But wow,” she said, looking around. “When did she do all this? She really pulled it together.”
    After that episode with the hugging, I’d banned Liz from the trailer and always had her pick me up at the seawall. I never invited anyone over when Mom was drinking. Just like Liz never invited anyone over unless her dad was in his Pleasure Zone.
    The giant sunflowers nodded against the trailer, covering the rust. In front of them were hollyhocks, mallow, and a crawling yellow flower that filled in the empty spots. The individual beds of herbs, perennials, and annuals spread out from there, spilling over onto the paths that connected the beds to the workshop.
    â€œShe does okay in the summer,” I said. “Better than before, anyway.” I remembered the trailer during the bad times: shades down, filled with smoke, Mom’s unwashed hair and rumpled clothes. A million years ago, it seemed.
    But this time I walked up the steps and opened the trailer door without a trace of anxiety. “Come on in.”
    â€œWow, this place looks incredible,” she said. “What’d you do to it?”
    â€œI cleaned it out. No big deal.” I caught her staring at my red hands, and I put them in my pockets. “Put your stuff anywhere,” I said.
    Liz threw her coat and backpack on the couch and went to the kitchen. “Can I get a drink?” she asked.
    I told her where the soda was and asked her to bring the brownies I’d made. I moved her things off the couch, hung her coat on a hook, and put her backpack out of the way of traffic. The slipcover had come out of the cracks of the couch and I straightened it out. When I turned around, Liz was staring at me.
    â€œWhat?” I said.
    â€œYou’re every mother’s dream,” she said.
    We sat cross-legged on the floor and ate brownies and talked about guys and who was with whom this year. Every once in a while I got a jolt of panic and wondered if Mom was going to blow in with Linwood or Candy or Gary and settle in to party, but then I remembered that it was just me and I laughed a little louder, felt a little happier. It was like having my own apartment.
    â€œWhile you’re in this great mood, Claude, can you get me started?”
    â€œOh, yeah, no problem.” I spread her notes out on the floor and took a look.
    â€œI have to write a report for health about a current topic.”
    â€œYou mean like cloning,” I said.
    â€œLike any current topic,” she said. “But it has to be