Free Altered by Jennifer Rush Page B

mother in my life. I didn’t want to hope—because it would hurt worse when I found out it wasn’t true. “My mother is dead. That’s a fact, not an excuse.”
    The boys stared at me in the murky dark.
    I didn’t have the energy or the confidence to argue with them. Doubt filled my head. It did look like her writing. And I should know; I’d spent almost every day for the last five years reading her journal cover to cover time and again.
    If she was alive…
    I struggled to picture that house again. The kitchen. The color of the walls. The smell of the living room. I tried to see the things “Mrs. Tucker” had surrounded herself with, trying to decide if I saw my mother.
    But it was no use. I hadn’t paid close enough attention until I found the sticky note, and by then it was too late.
    “We should go,” I said. “The cop has probably called for backup by now.” When no one moved, I shouted, “Sam! Go!”
    Sam pulled onto the road and pointed us toward the freeway.

10
    A FEW MONTHS EARLIER, TREV AND I had had a conversation about mothers, and families in general.
    “Families are important,” he’d said. “Families define who we become.”
    I’d thought of my dad. If he defined who I became, I’d be a workaholic with no life outside the lab. Sometimes that didn’t seem so bad, though, if Sam and the others were there.
    “Do you miss your mother?” Trev had asked.
    I leaned a hip against the glass wall. “I miss the idea of her.”
    “You and I are the sum of a void left by the absence of someone we love.”
    “I don’t even know what that means.”
    He smirked. “It means I understand your pain.”
    If I’d thought I didn’t have anything in common with the boys, that conversation with Trev had proved otherwise.
    “Have you ever thought about what you’d say or do if you finally met your mother?” I’d asked.
    Trev had answered without hesitation. “I would memorize everything about her—how she looked, how she smelled—so that if I lost her again, I would always have her.”
    There were so many things I didn’t know about my mother. She was as much a mystery to me as Sam was. Even though I had her journal, it wasn’t the same as having her.
    I wanted it to be true. I wanted her to be alive. I wanted to have a second chance, to see her for myself. Sketch her in my mind and memorize her.

    “We should probably stop for the night, don’t you think?” Trev said as he and Cas divided a leftover Twinkie.
    “We need to put more distance between us and the cops,” Sam said. “We’ll get a room soon.”
    “Then how about we talk food?” Cas said. “Particularly something that starts with ice and ends with cream .”
    A car passed on the opposite side of the road, its headlights illuminating Sam’s face. An overhead freeway sign said we were on course for Brethington.
    I leaned between the seats to look at Cas. “Do you ever stop eating?”
    He shrugged. “No. Why?”
    “ ‘To keep the body in good health is a duty….’ ” Trev said, pulling out one of his quotes. “ ‘Otherwise we shall not be able to keep our mind strong and clear.’ ”
    Cas snorted. “Who said that? The Dalai frickin’ Lama?”
    “Buddha.”
    “Yeah, well, wasn’t it George Washington who said, ‘Be careful about reading health books. You may die of a misprint’?”
    “Oh, good one,” I said.
    Trev sighed. “Mark Twain said that.”
    “Close enough.” Cas crossed his arms.
    I poked him in the knee. “What would we do without you?”
    “Die of boredom.”
    “Or prosper in the silence,” Trev added as he looked out the window.

    After nine, Sam pulled off the freeway and into a small town. We stopped at the first hotel we saw, a basic national chain that stood behind a strip mall. Trev and I did the checking-in part, and lied about our personal information. It seemed to work especially well once we handed the clerk a few extra twenties.
    We met the others at the hotel’s side entrance.