Evan grabbed his backpack.
“Nothing.”
I stepped in front of the door.
“No.”
“Mom.”
“Tell me.”
“Move.”
“No.”
His eyes filled.
That frightened me more than his anger.
“Please.”
“Evan.”
He wiped his face roughly with his sleeve.
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
