Free In Mike We Trust by P. E. Ryan Page A

getting ready for bed. “Got a minute?” Mike asked.
    â€œSure.” Garth was sitting on his unmade bed reading an old dog-training manual.
    Mike looked at the title. “You going to teach Hutch some new tricks?”
    â€œNah. I just like reading this stuff. Did you know you shouldn’t give your dog a one-syllable name because it’ll take him longer to learn it?”
    â€œGood thing neither one of us is a dog, then.” Mike was in cargo shorts and a Grateful Dead T-shirt. He had a little bit of a gut, Garth noticed for the first time. He wasn’t holding it in, either. He seemed comfortable with himself.
    Garth folded his legs up and Mike sat down at the end of the bed. His brow was furrowed and his hands were working around an imaginary object, as if he were shaping clay on a spinning wheel. “I don’t want you to think your mom and I are at odds,” he finally said. “That’s the last thing you need—your uncle coming into town and fighting with your mom.”
    â€œI don’t think that,” Garth said, even though that was exactly what he’d perceived at dinner.
    â€œThe thing is, when it comes to the whole gay thing, I know you don’t agree with your mom.” He looked Garth directly in the eye until Garth nodded. “And neither do I. But I understand where she’s coming from. She’s exhausted. I mean, she’s overworked, and she’s worried about you, and she loves you; I get all that. I mean, that’s real stuff. There’s a burden on her. I can see it when I look at her and hear it when she talks. What she’s been through…honestly, I can’t imagine what it was like for her. Or for you. Right now, I just want to be there for you and her both, you know?”
    â€œYeah,” Garth said. Was he agreeing to something? Committing to something? He wasn’t sure; he was just glad Mike had stuck up for him and was glad this late-night visit wasn’t to say anything bad about his mom. “She works really hard. And, like I said, she’s been kind of overprotective since Dad died.”
    â€œShe’s been through hell,” Mike said. “So have you. I just hope I can help both you guys out while I’m here.”
    Again, Garth had no idea what the right response might be.
    â€œSeriously,” Mike said, and tapped his index finger against his temple. “I’ve got the wheels spinning on how to help.”
    â€œThanks,” Garth said.
    â€œThere’s a mall nearby, right?”
    â€œWillow Lawn isn’t too far away.”
    â€œDo you want to go with me tomorrow? I could really use some new clothes. My shirts are played out, and I have some other shopping I need to do.”
    Tomorrow was a Wednesday, his volunteer day at Bone Sweet Bone. But what was one more day at the dog shelter compared to a day with Mike, who wasn’t going to be here for very long? The more time Garth spent around him, the more he liked him. He could call Lisa in the morning and explain. He could call the shelter’s number and leave Ms. Kessler a message saying that he needed one of the other volunteers to replace him. No big deal.
    â€œSure,” he said. “Let’s go.”

5
    M ike recognized the part of town they were in. Garth was directing him toward the mall, and while Broad Street pretty much looked like Broad Street block after block, Monument Avenue, west of I-95, became very suburban: apartment complexes, ranch houses, two-story homes with wide lawns, chain-link-fence-lined yards, oaks and pine trees growing in abundance.
    â€œWe’re near the cemetery, aren’t we?” Mike asked, guiding the Camaro with one wrist resting casually on top of the steering wheel.
    â€œSort of. This is the way we took to get there—”
    â€œâ€”the day of the funeral. I remember this stretch of road. I got to the funeral home just in time to follow you guys out