Free Liberty or Death by Kate Flora

didn't know what else to do, so I brought him here..."
    Theresa put her hands on her hips and stared at the boy in exasperation. "Lyle, your momma doesn't work here anymore, so there's no sense in trying to come down here to see her. I'll call your grandmother. She must be worried sick."
    "Wasn't looking for her," he said, "I know she's gone. I was to look for anyone, it would be Mindy. But I ain't. I'm running away from home."
    Ignoring him, she picked up the phone and dialed a number. Waited, then said, "Mary, it's Theresa. Yes, he's here. Our new waitress just found him out in the parking lot. No, I don't see how I... we're awfully busy. Yes, well, I guess maybe the new girl can. If she comes right now. I'll ask her. All right. All right. I know. I'll send him home."
    She rolled her eyes and hung up the phone. "That poor woman. As if she didn't have enough on her plate already, now her boy's been arrested for trying to make the damned government do what it's supposed to do. Person her age ought to be taking it easy." She shrugged. "As if anyone ever got to take things easy. Dora, I hate to ask you this... everyone working hard enough already... but we've got to get the boy home. How a kid in a wheelchair can still manage to be hell on wheels..." Here she stopped, as if aware of how ludicrous her remark had been.
    "It's only a few blocks, then down that street past the church. Lyle can show you where." She fanned herself with her hand, though it wasn't that hot in the kitchen yet. "Damned global warming. Mary Harding. She's his grandmother, bless her poor tired soul. I doubt she's got the energy to come and get him. Go on," she pointed at the door. "Get him out of here. We've got work to do."
    I really wasn't being asked, was I? But then, Theresa didn't know what she was doing, ordering me to help Jed Harding's child. Wearily, I turned back to the boy. He'd finished his lemonade and was eating a doughnut that Clyde must have given him, powdered sugar mingling with the dirt on his face. He gave me his gap-toothed grin again, seemingly unaware of Theresa's animosity. "Are you taking me home?"
    "Yes!" Theresa snapped. "She's taking you back where you belong. And this time, do us all a favor and stay there. Your grandmother has enough on her mind without worrying about you." She picked up the coffeepot and disappeared through the doors.
    "Don't pay her any mind," Clyde said. "She don't mean nothin' by it." He seized the chair handles in his big hands, piloted it out of the kitchen, and lifted it down the steps like it was a feather. He wheeled it around the front to the sidewalk and pointed down the street. "Just past the church, there. You see it. You go down that street, four, five houses. He'll show you."
    "Thanks," I said, and Lyle and I set off down the sidewalk, the heat shimmering around us like a warm, wet cloud. It didn't take much effort but I was soaked with sweat by the time we reached the church. Lyle seemed unaffected, chattering away like a magpie as he gave me the fifty-cent tour of his town. Every house, signpost, rock, and tree had a story, and Lyle knew them all. Twice in our five-block journey, tourists stopped to ask directions. I was blank, but Lyle did his best, and both times I received compliments on how sweet my little boy was.
    It reminded me of a girl I'd met in Hawaii, an A+ kid named Laura Mitchell, and how good it had felt to be mistaken for her mother. I'd never given much thought to motherhood. It had always been something I'd get around to someday. I'd been busy with other things. But like it or not, after thirty-one years, life had suddenly dubbed me a mother. Mother-to-be, anyway. It felt awkward, but sometimes it also felt good.
    "My mom used to work at that place," Lyle said. "But she's gone away and I'm not never going to see her again."
    "Oh, I bet you will," I said. "Mothers don't like to leave their children."
    He shook his head solemnly. "I think she's dead," he said. "And dead mothers