Then looked down at every red circle on the map.
Every place connected to the worst year of our lives.
Finally, he whispered:
“Because you’re going to tell me to stop.”
I crouched slightly so we were closer to eye level.
“Stop what?”
His voice cracked.
“Doing Dad’s part.”
I went still.
“What?”
He wiped his eyes again.
“Everybody helped us after Dad died.”
His finger touched the map.
“Tires.”
Another circle.
“Food.”
Another.
“Rides.”
Another.
“Haircuts.”
He looked up at me.
“Dad always said you pay people back.”
My chest tightened.
I thought about the Saturday Evan had come home two hours late with mud on his shoes.Footwear
“Where were you that day you came home late?”
He stared at the floor.
“Mrs. Donnelly’s.”
I knew the name immediately.
After Jeremy died, Mrs. Donnelly had picked Evan up from school whenever I couldn’t leave work.
For months.
“What happened to your shirt?”
“Her back fence fell over.”
I stared at him.
“You fixed her fence?”
“I helped.”
“With whom?”
“Her grandson.”
“That is why you were covered in mud?”
He nodded.
“And the money?”
“She wouldn’t take any.”
