The boy nodded, a shock of dark hair sweeping across his face. He was wearing a midnight-blue button-down shirt and jeans, but they hung off him, like they’d been handed down from a much older sibling. “Thanks,” he said softly. “I’m Diego, by the way.”
“I’m Jack.” She tossed the words behind her, disappearing into the kitchen. Before pulling three plates from the cupboard, she set the knotted pillowcases on a chair, hoping they would pass for laundry. Then she started arranging bread on plates.
She’d just applied the cheese slices when she heard footsteps behind her. She didn’t have to turn to know who they belonged to. “Your guest is here kind of late,” she said, as Flynn approached the counter, still refusing to meet her gaze. Sometimes their mother waited until their muscles had relaxed and their breathing had slowed before she reared up for an attack. Was he waiting for the cutting words? The brittle laughter that could make you curl into yourself, wanting to disappear?
“I had kind of an emergency,” Flynn said, helping her with the deli slices. He always put the chicken first, then the turkey, then the ham, and even though there was no reason for it, it made her heart squeeze. “Diego’s parents kicked him out of the house.”
“Oh, yeah? How come?”
He swallowed. “He told them some things they didn’t want to hear.”
Jack nodded calmly, but the tightness in her chest was overwhelming. She’d spent her life trying to protect people, but there was always some new danger lurking around the corner, some new rug to be pulled out from under her. “Does he have a place to stay?”
“Yes. Here.”
“Flynn.”
“It would only be for a couple of weeks! Just until he works things out with his mom and dad. Sometimes people react badly at first, but then they come around. You know? But right now he doesn’t believe they’ll ever talk to him again, so of course I said he could stay here.” A pause, as he shot her a sidelong glance. “It’s what you would’ve done.”
“Oh, good move,” she said, her lips twitching toward a grin. “Flattery, this time of night? You know I’ll be helpless against it.”
“I thought so.” He shrugged, so casual. But his lips were curving up on the left, just like hers were. “So it’s cool, then? He can stay for a little while?”
“If he sleeps on the couch,” she said after a minute of silence. Flynn was blushing again, badly. “And you sleep in your room.”
“But—”
“No buts, Flynn. I wouldn’t let my boyfriend sleep in my bed.”
“What boyfriend? You’ve never even dated anyone, and now you’re telling me what I can’t do? He just got kicked out. I want to stay with him, not hook up while my siblings sleep a few feet away.” There it was. That fourteen-year-old fierceness. That fire. Jack remembered it well, and everything it had led to.
The good and the bad.
“You’re too young,” she said softly. “You might think nothing’s going to happen, but you’d be surprised at how quickly things can—”
“What are you talking about?” He was practically shouting now, his exasperation plain. Jack couldn’t blame him. For all the world knew, she hadn’t touched anyone in the three years that Raven had been gone. And before that, Raven had been Belle’s, so nothing could’ve happened between them. Just like his clothes couldn’t be sitting on a chair beside the table.
When Diego appeared in the doorway, his eyes alight with concern, she took the opportunity to remind herself of what was at stake. Her freedom. Her ability to spend moments like this, tucked away in a tiny kitchen with the people she loved most in the world.
“Sandwiches are almost ready,” she said, forcing a smile. “Why don’t you boys pick some lettuce from the garden?”
“Oh my God. That freaking garden.” Flynn threw back his head dramatically, and Diego raised his eyebrows, amused at their theatrics. “She’s obsessed,” Flynn said by way of explanation, and then he and Diego were slipping out the side door, into the darkness beyond.
Jack waited three beats before racing back to the living room, stuffed pillowcases in hand. She found the poker beside the fireplace. It only took a moment to get the fire blazing, and then she was feeding the red, ravenous flames her best friend’s clothing. She’d told herself this wardrobe was all she had to remember him by, but that wasn’t really true.
She had the garden.
It had begun with a story. Back when Flynn was ten years old, and their younger brothers were three and four, Jack had gotten her hands on an old book of fairy tales. Flynn had rolled his eyes at the sight of the book, but he’d still curled up beside his little brothers in their attic bedroom and listened as Jack read them stories. “Snow White.” “Beauty and the Beast.” “Jack and the Beanstalk.” That last one had been Jack’s favorite, and days later, when they’d gone to the store to pick up some canned beans for dinner, she’d gotten an idea. The boys always went to bed hungry. They had so little to look forward to, and the book of fairy tales had made them happy.
What if she could bring the fairy tale to life?
And so, she ignored the aisle of canned vegetables and led them to the store’s outdoor garden. There were little pots of dahlias and begonias, but she passed them by, seeking a packet of beans. Magic beans, she told the younger boys, who were just little enough to believe it. They were going to plant them in the backyard, and in a few weeks a beanstalk would grow, just like in the story. They wouldn’t be able to climb it, but they’d have fresh vegetables all summer without ever having to go to the store. The boys were thrilled by the idea, and the second they got home they raced to the backyard, eager to start planting. Meanwhile, Jack stopped by the kitchen to put away the bread and the milk.
She hadn’t expected her mother to be home.
Bobbi McClain was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the wall. She looked strung out and exhausted, her eyes red and her fingers flicking a lit cigarette. Her gaze swiveled to the left, finding the packet of beans in her daughter’s hand. “What the hell is that?” she asked, waving her cigarette in Jack’s direction. It seemed to take all her strength.
“I…” Jack struggled for an explanation. Something that wouldn’t make her mother scream. Something that wouldn’t make her mother rage. “We’re going to plant a garden,” she managed, hating how hard it was to push out the words. “It’ll end up saving money, because we won’t have to buy beans all summer, and we’ll have fresh vegetables, which will be good for the boys—” She might’ve gone on like that, rambling into eternity, if her mother hadn’t cut her off with a sharp sound. But it wasn’t a scream. It wasn’t even a snarl. Across the table, her tired-eyed, lank-haired mother had started to chuckle.
“Sit down, baby girl,” she said, pushing a chair out with her foot. “I want to tell you something.”
Jack sat.
Her mother leaned in, and the scent of nicotine and sweat wafted off her, making Jack’s stomach turn. “Listen to me, sweetness. I’d love to let you grow a garden out there, I really would. But nothing’s going to grow in that backyard. You know why?”