“Because everything that boy has told you about that money is a lie.”
My knees went weak.
The bike.
The savings.
Almost there.
Months of lies.
“What is he doing?”
My voice barely came out.
“Sal, please. What is my son doing with the money?”
Then I heard shouting in the background.
A voice I recognized instantly.
Evan.
But not the calm, mature voice he used around me.
He sounded terrified.
“Please, Sal! Don’t tell my mom!”
Then another voice shouted.
An adult man.
Something crashed.
Glass or dishes hit the floor.
“Evan?!”
I stood so quickly my chair rolled backward.
“What’s happening? Sal!”
He came back on the line breathing hard.
“Ma’am, you need to get here.”
“What happened?”
“Your son tried to do it again, and this time—”
He stopped.
“Just get here. Right now.”
The line went dead.
I barely remember the drive.
I left work without my coat.
I ran red lights.
I prayed out loud.
Please, God.
Not Evan.
You already took Marcus.
Please don’t take my son too.
Sal’s words kept repeating in my head.
He tried to do it again.
Do what?
Steal?
Had Evan been taking money from the register?
Was that where all the cash came from?
Had someone caught him?
Was he hurt?
Was the crash I heard his body hitting something?
By the time I reached the diner, I had imagined every possible nightmare.
I pulled into the parking lot, jumped from the car, and ran inside.
Then I saw Evan.
My knees almost gave out.
Because everything I had imagined was wrong.
Completely wrong.
My son was standing in the middle of the diner.
He wasn’t seriously hurt.
But he was crying.
Evan almost never cried.
He hadn’t cried in front of me since his father’s funeral.
Yet there he was with tears pouring down his face.
In his hands was a fistful of cash.
He was trying to hand it to a woman sitting in a booth.
She was crying too.
On the table in front of her were some papers.
Prescription bottles.
And a child’s drawing.
Sal stood between them.
A tray of broken dishes was scattered across the floor.
That was the crash I had heard.
Just dishes.
I gripped the edge of a table.
“Evan?”
He turned.
The second he saw me, his face collapsed.
“Mom.”
He started sobbing harder.
“I’m sorry.”
I rushed toward him.
“Sorry for what? What happened?”
“I didn’t want you to know.”
“Know what?”
