Firefly Nights. Cynthia Thomason

needed to go for the sake of her twelve-year-old son.

      Adam opened his fist and dropped coins onto the front seat. “I can’t believe you cut up every single credit card.”

      His latest accusation brought her back to the present. “I couldn’t use them anyway. The receipts would leave a paper trail for Grandpa to see where we’re headed.”

      Adam rolled his eyes. “Grandpa knows a lot of people. I bet he can find anybody. Remember how he found us two summers ago when we barely made it into Georgia?”

      She remembered. The failure still clawed at her insides.

      “And I know he’ll want to find me especially,” Adam said.

      Kitty had considered Owen’s wide web of contacts, making her even more determined to fly under his radar. Yes, he would do almost anything to regain control of her son, the young heir to Galloway Groves that Owen had substituted for the worthless bundle of female his wife had handed him thirty-three years ago.

      “And besides,” Adam said, “why do you all the sudden hate him? He takes care of us. He buys us stuff...”

      “I know that, and I don’t hate him.” That was basically true, but how did she tell Adam that she didn’t admire his grandfather, either? Any more than she admired herself. She’d allowed her father to pull the strings of her life while she never tried to cut them—until two days ago when Owen had pulled those magic strings with the principal of the middle school to get Adam out of a theft charge.

      “I’ll handle this,” her father had said. “Adam’s just spirited. You know that.”

      Theft! She’d been completely shocked. Adam had everything, and yet he’d stolen an iPhone from a kid who’d just gotten it for his birthday and had justified his crime with a flippant remark about how the kid had irritated him by showing off the games he’d already downloaded. Since Friday had been the last day of school, and because he’d promised the principal he would punish Adam appropriately, Owen had once again avoided expulsion for his grandson. More strings and more lies. Ignoring Kitty’s attempts to discipline her son with grounding, Owen had accused her of “sucking the spunk right out of the kid.” And he’d even defied her by taking Adam to the racetrack in Tampa that very night.

      Now, looking out the window of a rusty old truck, with thirty-seven dollars in her pocket, Kitty felt as if she’d finally severed those strings—with a chain saw.

      “I thought you understood, Adam, that I think you and I need some time alone. Just the two of us.” That was true. She hadn’t shared nearly enough quality time with her son, and that was a major reason for his problems and attitude now. “Is that so bad?”

      “No.” He thought better of his answer and said, “It’s just weird, that’s all. Why now?”

      Because now I need to seriously be your mother before it’s too late. “Adam, don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll think of something.”

      “Think of using your phone to call Grandpa.”

      She skewered him with a threatening glare before pointing to some bushes several yards from where the pickup had wheezed to a halt. “You gotta go?”

      “Oh, right. Me, first. Then if anything bites me on the butt, I can warn you.”

      Kitty slid her feet into her chunky cork sandals, scooted to the passenger side and yanked on the door handle. “Forget it. I’ll go first.” She wiggled her fingers at the backseat. “Hand me that box of tissues.”

      When he did, she managed a smile. “See? Aren’t you glad I thought to bring these?”

      “I’m thrilled.” He nodded at the window that separated the cab from the back of the truck. “We got a bunch of crappy material, a sewing machine and tissues. Fat City.”

      She got out of the truck, leaned inside and said, “While I’m gone, you get all that sarcastic trash talk out of your system, because when I get back I don’t want to hear another word of it.”

      As she walked toward the bushes in her suddenly impractical designer slides, Adam hollered, “I’m hungry!”

      Ten minutes later Kitty and Adam stood by the side of the road scoping out approaching traffic. When a van appeared, Adam stuck out his thumb. Kitty pulled his hand down.

      “What’d you do that for?”

      “We’re not hitchhiking. It’s dangerous.”

      “So is starving. We gotta get to a town somehow.” Again Adam scrutinized the endless stretch of rolling hills and farmland. “If there even is a town in this state.”

      “I’m watching for just the right ride,” Kitty said. “I’ll know it when I see it.” And she did—a farm truck loaded with watermelons. She waved at the driver, and the vehicle braked. Tugging Adam behind her, Kitty ran to the passenger window and explained to a middle-aged woman in a cotton dress and straw hat about the truck breaking down.

      “You wantin’ a lift to town, then?” the woman asked.

      “If you don’t mind,” Kitty said.

      The woman looked to the driver, a man of her same approximate age. He nodded. “We’re headin’ to the grand opening of the twenty-four-hour Super Value-Rite,” she said, “so we can get you that far.”

      A Value-Rite! Food. Bathrooms. An ATM. “That’s perfect,” Kitty said. “How far is it?”

      “About two miles to Sorrel Gap,” the man answered. “The Value-Rite’s just on the outskirts. We’re taking all the melons to set up a stand in the parking lot. You and the boy are welcome to climb in the back.”

      “Thank you.”

      Kitty and Adam climbed over a wooden gate at the rear of the truck and settled in among a mound of watermelons. When the truck lurched forward, Kitty patted Adam’s hand. “There, see, it’s better than walking, and the farmer and his wife were nice.”

      “You told me never to ride with a stranger.”

      “I told you never to get in a car with a stranger. I never said anything about riding with watermelons. Anyway, this is a special case.”

      He leaned back on a large melon and lifted his face to the sun. “It’s not so bad, I guess. But I’d sure like to know how you’re going to get us out of this.”

      “I’m thinking. I told you I’d come up with a plan, and I will. We’ll be back on the road to cousin Bette’s house before you know it.” Bette was Kitty’s one true refuge. Her mother’s cousin had been comforting and sympathetic when Kitty called her the day before.

      “Of course I’ll help you, Katherine,” Bette had promised. “I’ll find out about the fashion-design institute for you and lend you enough money to enroll. You and Adam can stay here as long as you need to.”

      “And if Daddy calls you,” Kitty had said, “please don’t tell him I contacted you.” Bette had vowed secrecy.

      “That’s supposed to make me feel better?” Adam blurted out. “Going to some old lady’s house I don’t even remember? School just let out two days ago, and already it looks like this is going to be the worst summer I’ve ever had.”

      “You’ll like Charlotte. They have museums and—”

      “I hope I get my own room.”

      Kitty pictured Adam’s bedroom in her father’s house and even allowed herself an image of her lavender suite at the mansion. No doubt it was tough giving all that up. “You will have a room,” she promised. “Just as soon as I can afford to leave Bette’s and rent a place. And once my business takes off, I’ll even replace some of the things you left at Grandpa’s.”

      “Your business? You make it sound like we’re never going back to Florida.”

      She