A ROSE FOR MOM
Grady looked over the hedge, up at the house, then back at the rose. The rose was perfect, just beyond the bud stage. He could almost smell it.
He thought how much Mom would like that rose! The two dollars he saved didn’t buy much of a birthday present, but if he presented the little bottle of cologne along with that perfect creamy white rose --
At eight he was old enough to know his mother would not want a stolen rose. But there was the bush, laden with buds, many more roses to come. He wanted only one. As he reached across the hedge and touched the thorny stem, his fingers felt in his pocket and pulled out Dad’s pocket knife. He was breaking a lot of rules today. He wasn’t supposed to have the knife, either.
But Dad wasn’t around any more and didn’t that make him the man of the house? He reached for the stem and pressed the knife against it.
Then he froze. Mrs. Townsend stood on the other side of the hedge. “What are you doing, Grady?”
“I-I’m sorry. I was stealing your rose. It’s Mom’s birthday --”
“Well give me the knife.”
He handed it over. Now Mom would know what he did.
To his surprise she cut the flower and held it out to him. “There,” she said. “The rose is not stolen because I give it to you.”
“You aren’t going to tell on me?”
She was smiling. “No. I can keep a secret. Take it home and surprise her.”
© Copyright 2009 Doremi (UN: nicegrandma777 at Writing.Com).
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