“Lindsay, a few months ago, Evan came in here carrying an envelope with one hundred and eighty dollars.”
I looked at my son.
The owner continued.
“He told me he owed me for a tire.”
I stared at him.
“The tire from three years ago?”
“That one.”
My voice sharpened.
“You took money from a thirteen-year-old?”
The man’s face turned red.
“Not at first.”
Evan muttered:
“He argued with me for like twenty minutes.”
“Because I was about thirty seconds from calling your mother.”
“You said I was annoying customers.”
“You were annoying me.”
I raised a hand.
“What happened?”
The owner sighed.
“He refused to leave.”
Then he opened a drawer beneath the register.
“He kept saying his family owed me.”
From the drawer, he removed a worn white envelope.
Written across the front in Evan’s handwriting were two words.
FOR TIRES.
My throat tightened.
“You kept it?”
