Book 9: A Reason

Sydney

The botanical garden is a thirty minute drive from the city and even longer from the castle. Juxtaposed against a sea of silver trees, the glass domed building sticks out as a bright pop of color against ribbons of pure white snow. 

I pull my truck to a stop, checking my watch. 

Someone opens the front door to the building and steps out, bundled against the biting sub-zero temperature in a pale purple sweater and gray leggings. 

Mom’s wine-red hair is pulled in a bun piled on the top of her head. She waves at me, motioning for me to hurry the hell up. 

“You said you’d be here at eight!” she says by way of greeting as I hike up the snow-covered steps. 

“It’s 8:15,” I reply as she motions me inside, pulling the heavy glass doors closed behind her. 

My thick coat and hat are suddenly suffocating inside the humid warmth of the building, but I don’t bother taking them off. Whatever she needed