The boy nearly fell.
Evan stopped.
I watched from the bench.
He crouched beside the bike.
Turned it upside down.
Got grease all over his fingers.
A few minutes later, the chain was back on.
The boy’s father reached for his wallet.
“What do I owe you?”
Evan froze.
I could see him thinking.
Then he shook his head.
“Nothing.”
The man smiled.
“You sure?”
Evan glanced toward me.
Then said:
“Help somebody when they’re stuck.”
My eyes burned.
The father put his wallet away.
“I can do that.”
Evan jumped back onto his bike.
Then yelled toward me:
“Mom!”
“What?”
“Time me!”
I raised my phone.
He pushed off.
That evening, I found the old bus map sitting on the kitchen table.
I unfolded it.
The red circles were still there on one side.
TIRES.
HAIRCUT.
STORE LADY.
Names from the hardest year of our lives.
Then I flipped it over.
