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more as a Boy Scout.”
    “You’re too good to me, Lucas,” she said with a smile, returning her small purse to her pocket.
    “My pleasure.” Lucas cautiously headed for the door, watching for Fluffles.
    “Word to the wise,” Mrs. Taylor whispered. “Think your mom’s been hittin’ the hooch.” She made a gesture as if drinking from a bottle.
    Lucas nodded and his stomach sank. He hated when his mother drank; it always ended with her crying.
    As he crossed the street toward their trailer, he’d almost decided to take his truck and head to the Hog Trough. But then he saw her, glass in hand, standing in the doorway waiting for him.
    And he didn’t have the heart to leave her alone.
    * * *
    Lucas leaned into the refrigerator, looking for something to eat. He found some old pizza and leftover spaghetti and meatballs.
    “Did you eat yet?” he asked his mother, carrying the leftovers to the microwave.
    Cordelia was sitting at the small kitchen table, a nearly empty glass of whiskey in her hand.
    “I had a big lunch,” she answered, her eyes riveted to the melting ice in her glass.
    “Lucas, do you hate me?” she asked suddenly.
    He rolled his eyes as he put the spaghetti in the microwave and hit the two-minute button. He hated when she got like this. It didn’t happen very often, but when it did, it was the worst.
    “No, I don’t hate you. Why would I?” he said. He could hear the ice in her glass tinkle like Christmas bells. He tried to concentrate on the spaghetti.
    “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be in this place,” she said, her words slightly slurred.
    Lucas wondered how many drinks she’d had.
    “It’s fine, Ma,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. All I know is Perdition. I don’t know what I’m missing.”
    She nodded, getting up from her chair and going to the counter, where the bottle of whiskey was waiting.
    “And that’s exactly it,” she said as she unscrewed the cap and splashed more of the golden liquor over the ice. “You are missing stuff … lots of stuff. … You’re wasting your life away working in a crappy garage because I wasn’t strong enough to—”
    The microwave alarm went off.
    “Ma, enough,” Lucas said, replacing the spaghetti in the microwave with a paper plate that held three slices of cheese pizza. “I don’t know why you keep blaming yourself for coming here.”
    This was the pattern. She got a little bit drunk and started talking about how she had to run from her past in Seraph City. No matter what he said to console her, it never helped.
    And really, Lucas had never blamed her for leaving. Sure, he was curious about the specifics, about a father he knew nothing of, but he always figured she had done what she had to do, nothing more or less than that.
    She was adding ice to her drink as he sat down to eat. He didn’t want to talk about this stuff anymore, but when she was like this, there was no stopping her.
    “You know how sorry I am, right?” she asked, practically falling into her chair.
    “Be careful,” Lucas said, spearing a meatball and starting to eat.
    She reached out to touch his hand. Hers was damp and cold from the condensation on her glass, and Lucas almost pulled away, but then realized how that would look to her.
    “There’s no reason for you to be sorry,” he said, grabbing a slice of pizza with his other hand.
    “I always wanted the best for you.” She had tears in her eyes now. “But I had to get away from the city … as far away as possible or …” She fell silent, staring into her glass once again. And then she had some more to drink.
    “Ma, I don’t know how many more times I have to tell you this,” Lucas began. “But I like it here. This is my home. It’s the only home I’ve ever known.”
    “But—” she started to argue.
    “No buts,” he interrupted. “Perdition is fine. Everything I could ever want is here.” He got up and took his dirty dishes to the sink. “End of story.”
    He returned to his