The Spark

“You mean the old man who feeds the crackheads?”

“His name is Bud, and he doesn’t just feed people with addiction problems. Anyone who’s hungry can go and eat a hot meal from him every night. That’s whose garden we’re turning over.”

Storm shrugged. “Whatever. Why do we have to help?”

“Because if you don’t help plant the trees, you don’t deserve to sit in the shade.”

His face scrunched up. “We’re planting trees, too?”

I smiled. “No. I just meant you have to give back to people who give in life.”

“Why?”

“A lot of reasons. It helps others who need help. It’ll make you feel good about yourself. It teaches you values.”

Storm pretty much tuned out. He looked around the front of my car. “Is this real wood?”

I nodded. “It’s walnut.”

“So you help plant trees and then you make people chop ’em down to put inside your fancy car.”

I couldn’t hide my smile this time. “You’re a wise ass.”

Storm pointed his finger at me. “Watch your language, or you’ll be chopping onions.”

This was going to be one long-ass day.

***

“So what’s his story?” Bud stood at the back window of his house, watching Storm as he worked in the garden.

I washed my hands at the kitchen sink. “Lives at Park House. Very smart. Useless parents. Uses his fists to get out his anger.”

Bud’s eyes met mine briefly before he returned to looking outside. “Sounds like a boy I used to know.”

Drying off my hands, I filled two glasses with cold water and went to stand next to him at the window. “Yeah.” I handed him a glass. “He could definitely use some direction.”

Bud chugged his water. “Drugs?”

I shook my head. “Weed. Nothing else that I’m aware of.”

“Well, that’s good. Any family to speak of?”

“Mother’s alive. But she didn’t even show to visit on his birthday. She’s an addict.”

Bud frowned. His daughter had been an addict. He lost her to an overdose the same year I was born. It wasn’t something he talked about often, but I knew it was part of how he’d started feeding people. He used to drag her out of the type of buildings he spent his nights in now. Often when he’d gone looking for her, he’d seen hungry kids sitting around while their strung-out parents used what little money they had for more drugs. Him feeding the neighborhood and spending time in the places he did always felt like part punishment and part penance to me—for not being able to save his daughter.

“He has a social worker he seems to trust,” I said. “Autumn.”

Bud nodded. “It’s good he has someone. Though we both know the people down at social services tend to rotate in and out pretty fast. One day they’re here, the next they’re gone, and then a kid like Storm feels abandoned all over again.”

I knew that to be true, so I refrained from mentioning that his social worker had already left a kid like Storm feeling abandoned—me.

Storm finished up the last of the garden turnover while Bud and I started to prep for his nightly meal service. Once all three of us were done, I stepped outside to call Park House and let the manager know I was going to take Storm to dinner and I’d have him back after. Of course, she was fine with it since lawyers were on the list of approved visitors who could take kids out of the building. It also left her one less person to worry about.

When I went back inside, I asked Storm to help me start loading Bud’s van. “I thought tonight we’d help serve dinner with Bud.”

Storm shrugged. “Fine.”

He’d never say so, but I was pretty sure he’d actually liked working in the garden this afternoon.

“What’s Bud short for?” he asked as we walked back up the path to the house. “Budrick or something?”

“Bud’s name is actually Frances. Everyone just calls him Bud because of his garden—bud as in plant buds. The man can grow anything.”

Storm shook his head. “Frances is worse than Augustus.”

I ruffled Storm’s hair as I opened the door. “Go wash up, Augustus.”

***

The day had gone even better than I’d expected. Storm had let down his guard, and I was pretty sure he was shocked to see a few people he knew at dinner service, including one of his buddies from the neighborhood.

I pulled up at Park House and parked the car. “I told the manager I spoke to earlier that I was taking you to dinner,” I said. “I didn’t mention where we were going to eat.”

Storm smirked. “Are you telling me to lie?”

“Absolutely not. If anyone asks, you tell them the truth. I was just letting you know that I didn’t elaborate on where dinner was, so if it doesn’t come up, it doesn’t come up.”

Storm’s smile widened. “So…don’t lie, but omit some of the details.”