“That’s what he tells us too.”
Evan’s expression changed.
“Don’t.”
Mr. Alvarez ignored him.
“You know how many paychecks he’s actually kept in six months?”
I waited.
“One,” he said.
For a moment, I thought I’d heard him wrong.
“One?”
Mr. Alvarez nodded.
“The first one.”
I turned toward Evan.
“Where did the others go?”
“Mom…”
“Where?”
He didn’t answer.
That silence worried me more than the overturned dishes.
Evan had wanted that used mountain bike for nearly a year. The first time he showed it to me, I’d offered to help pay.
“No. I want to earn it myself, Mom.”
At the time, I’d been proud of him.
Evan was 10 when we lost Jeremy. After that, he rarely asked me for anything.
The diner was small and family-owned. Mr. Alvarez knew us from the neighborhood, and once I discovered Evan was working there, I allowed him to continue because his Saturday shifts involved only bussing tables, light cleaning, and helping in the dishroom.
I looked around the diner.
“Where did the money go?”
Evan folded his arms.
“It’s mine.”
“Yes, it is. And you’re 13.”
“That doesn’t mean you get to know everything, Mom.”
“No, Sir. But when your boss calls me because you’re trying to hand an adult your entire paycheck and breaking dishes over it, privacy gets a little smaller.”
Then I noticed something near his feet.
His backpack had fallen open when the bus tub crashed.
Several envelopes had spilled out beside a folded city bus map.
I bent down.
Evan moved immediately.
“Mom, don’t…”
That only made me pick it up.
He completely froze.
I unfolded the map across the nearest table.
Red circles covered it.
Six, maybe seven.
Beside several circles were notes 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.
Two circles had dollar amounts beside them.
$180.
Not stubborn.
Afraid.
“What am I going to find there?” I demanded.
Evan swallowed and stared toward the windows.
“Nothing.”
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.”
Evan sat stiffly beside me as we drove toward Mason Tire.
I remembered that place clearly.
Jeremy had been gone four months when our old sedan got a flat during a freezing February rain.
I drove to Mason Tire expecting a simple patch.
Twenty minutes later, the owner told me another tire was nearly bald.
I could afford one tire.
Not two.
I remembered standing beside the counter while 10-year-old Evan drank hot chocolate someone had given him.
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 told him I couldn’t pay for the second one, he slid the invoice back.
“Then don’t today.”
I cried in the car afterward.
I hadn’t thought about that afternoon in years.
Not until I saw TIRES written on Evan’s map.
The same owner was behind the counter when we entered the shop.
He was older now, with more gray in his hair.
He looked up.
Then his eyes landed on Evan.
“Oh, no.”
Evan stopped.
The man pointed at him.
“You promised me you were done.”
I looked between them.
“Done with what?”
Then the owner recognized me and broke into a huge smile.
“Lindsay?”
“Yes.”
He looked at Evan again and closed his eyes.
“Oh, kid.”
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.
You will find the rest on the next page.
