Something near Evan’s feet caught my attention.
His backpack had fallen open when the bus tub crashed.
Something near Evan’s feet caught my attention.
Several envelopes lay beside a folded city bus map.
I bent down.
Evan moved faster.
“Mom, don’t…”
That made me pick it up.
He completely froze.
I unfolded the map across the nearest table.
Red circles covered it.
Six of them.
Maybe seven.
Several envelopes lay beside a folded city bus map.
Some had words written beside them in Evan’s cramped handwriting.
TIRES
MR T
HAIRCUT
STORE LADY
One address had been crossed out three times and rewritten farther down the street.
Next to two circles were dollar amounts.
$180.
$65.
I looked at Evan.
“What is this?”
“Nothing.”
One address had been crossed out three times and rewritten farther down the street.
Mr. Alvarez made an irritated sound.
“That’s his favorite word.”
I pointed at the circles.
“You’ve been taking buses around town?”
“Sometimes.”
“By yourself?”
“I’m not five.”
“You’re 13, which is apparently old enough to create a secret map of people you’re paying behind my back.”
“You’ve been taking buses around town?”
“I’m not paying people, Mom.”
Cal raised one eyebrow.
“You just tried to give me a paycheck.”
“That was different.”
I tapped the word TIRES.
“What is this?”
Evan looked away.
Cal did not.
“The tire place on Mason.”
My eyes moved to him.
“How do you know?”
“You just tried to give me a paycheck.”
“Because I followed him there last month.”
Evan exploded.
“You what?”
Cal shrugged.
“He’d already tried slipping me money twice. Then he kept telling everybody he was saving for a bicycle. I wanted to know where the rest was going.”
“He’d already tried slipping me money twice.”
“You followed me?”
“I walked behind you for three blocks.”
“That’s following!”
“Whatever!” Cal sighed. “I got tired and took the bus.”
The tire shop on Mason.
I knew that place.
I hadn’t been there in years.
Not since the winter after Jeremy died.
I knew that place. I hadn’t been there in years.
I folded the map.
“Get your backpack.”
Evan’s eyes widened.
“Why?”
“We’re going to the tire shop.”
“No.”
“Evan.”
“Mom, please.”
That “please” was different.
Not stubborn.
Scared.
“What am I going to find there?” I demanded.
Evan swallowed and stared toward the diner windows.
“Nothing.”
“What am I going to find there?”
Cal shook his head.
“There it is again.”
I handed Mr. Alvarez the paycheck.
“Can you hold this? Just until we get back.”
“I’ve been trying to make him keep it.”
Evan grabbed his backpack.
“I hate all of you.”
Cal pointed after him.
“That’s normal THIRTEEN. Keep that part.”
“I’ve been trying to make him keep it.”
Evan sat rigid beside me as we drove to the tire shop.
I remembered it too clearly.
Jeremy had been gone four months.
Our old sedan got a flat tire during a freezing February rain.
I drove to Mason Tire expecting a patch.
Our old sedan got a flat tire during a freezing February rain.
The owner came out 20 minutes later and told me another tire was nearly bald.
I had enough money for one.
I remember standing beside the counter while Evan, 10 years old then, drank hot chocolate somebody had given him.
I had enough money for one.
I asked the owner if the second tire could wait two weeks.
He looked at me.
Then at Evan.
Then he replaced both.
When I said I couldn’t pay for the second one, he slid the invoice back.
“Then don’t today.”
I cried in my car afterward.
I asked the owner if the second tire could wait two weeks.
I had not thought about that afternoon in years.
Until I saw the word TIRES written on my son’s map.
When we entered the shop, the same owner was behind the counter.
Older now.
More gray.
He looked up.
His eyes landed on Evan.
“Oh, no.”
I had not thought about that afternoon in years.
Evan stopped.
The man pointed at him.
“You promised me you were done.”
I looked between them.
“Done with what?”
As soon as the owner registered my face, a huge smile broke out.
“Lindsay?”
“Yes.”
He looked at Evan again. Then he closed his eyes.
“Oh, kid.”
“You promised me you were done.”
Evan spoke quickly.
“I told you not to tell her.”
“I didn’t.”
“You’re about to.”
The man came around the counter.
“Lindsay, a few months ago your son came in here with $180.”
I looked at Evan.
The owner continued.
“He said he owed me for a tire.”
“Lindsay, a few months ago your son came in here with $180.”