Evan stood in the middle of it.
His apron was soaked.
One sleeve was twisted near the shoulder.
His face was red.
Across from him stood Cal, one of the older men who worked mornings at the diner.
Cal was holding one end of a white envelope.
Evan was holding the other.
“Give it back!”
“No.”
“It’s mine!”
“Exactly,” Cal snapped. “That’s why I’m not taking it.”
Mr. Alvarez saw me.
“Thank God.”
Evan spun around.
The moment he saw me, he let go of the envelope.
“Mom?”
I stopped several feet away.
“What is going on?”
Nobody answered.
I pointed toward the envelope.
“Is that your paycheck?”
Evan stared at the floor.
“Yes.”
“And why was Cal holding it?”
Cal tossed it onto the counter.
“Because your son tried to give me every cent.”
I turned toward Evan.
“What?”
“It isn’t like that.”
Cal folded his arms.
“Then explain it.”
Evan glared at him.
“Stay out of it.”
“Evan.”
He went quiet.
I picked up the envelope.
“Why would you give Cal your entire paycheck?”
Evan answered too quickly.
“Because I owed him.”
Cal slapped one palm against the counter.
“There! That’s what he always says.”
“I did owe you.”
“For what?”
“For helping me.”
Cal stared at him.
“You helped me carry twelve boxes of potatoes last month.”
Evan’s jaw tightened.
“So?”
“So am I supposed to hand over my retirement check?”
“That’s different.”
