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.
