The Garden Muse, part 2.

“I don’t understand it.” Jackson’s mother gripped a letter between her two perfectly manicured hands—skin so soft it almost felt slimy. Of course, that was Jackson’s personal opinion.

Jackson ignored her and poured himself a bowl of cereal. He hadn’t even set the box of Lucky Charms before his mother’s hawk hand swooped in and yanked the bowl from in front of him.

“I don’t think so, mister. Lucky Charms are not an acceptable dinner. If you eat like that in college, you’ll gain the freshman 20.” As she talked, she’d tossed the bowl full of cereal down the garbage disposal and then folded up the letter she had and placed it on the counter. “All the statistics say that college students are gaining more and more weight.”

She kept talking and talking while she moved about the kitchen to make dinner. Jackson just stared at the sink, mouth-watering for the lost charms. The box had been confiscated from his hand at some point.

Jackson shifted to sit on the bar stool and nodded absently in response to his mom’s constant tumble of words.

The letter sat in front of him barely cracked open to show the top of the page. Yale. The letterhead frowned at him almost. His mom’s alma mater.

His mom’s back was to him as she chopped carrots. She had people to do almost everything else for them—cleaning, washing, gardening, maintenance, grocery shopping, chauffeurs, but for some reason, mom still preferred to do her own cooking, claiming, “You never know what others will put in your food. Do it yourself!”

Jackson scooted his fingertips toward the letter and slowly pried it open. It was addressed to him. The first line began with, “We regret to inform you…”

Air rushed out of his lungs. He hadn’t even realized that he was holding his breath. He shouldn’t have worried. Fate hadn’t wanted him at his mom’s alma mater.

He pulled his hand back and watched as the letter sprang back to partially folded. Now, Jackson could pursue his dream of art school.

“Son, would you start a pot of water to boil?”

Jackson stood and moved toward the cabinets to grab a pot.

“I ran into Mrs. Penning at the courthouse today.” His mom minced a couple of cloves of garlic. “She and her husband are filing a missing person’s report for Emerson and they also want to charge her with theft.”

Jackson’s mouth went dry. Even if the Pennings were relations of Emerson Ann’s, that didn’t mean he had to like them. He knew what they were. The only reason he didn’t say was because of Emerson.

He watched the water fill the pot in his hand. The rush of the water reminded him of the fountain in the garden between his yard and the Pennings.

Jackson shook his head, willing the images of Emerson Ann’s tear stained face from his mind. He didn’t want to think of her like that—broken, abused, hurt, and weak.

He shut off the water and hefted the full pot to the stovetop where he slammed the lid down over the water. With a flick of his wrist, he lit the gas stove.

Did you love Part 2? Don’t miss out on Part 1, and the following Part 3 and Part 4! Happy Reading!