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.
The owner continued.
“He said he owed me for a tire.”
