He wiped his face.
“There were some older boys near the creek.”
My stomach dropped.
“They saw me giving Carla money through the diner window once.”
I stared at him.
“They thought I carried cash every Saturday.”
He swallowed.
“That night they waited for me.”
My hands went cold.
“They tried to take the money?”
Evan nodded.
“I ran.”
He pointed toward his jacket.
“I fell climbing up the creek bank. That’s how this ripped.”
“And your face?”
“Same thing.”
I could barely breathe.
“But you said your paycheck was somewhere safe.”
“It was.”
His voice became quieter.
“I still had the money.”
He looked toward Carla.
“I gave it to them the next week.”
I covered my mouth.
My child had been chased.
He had fallen.
Come home muddy and scraped.
And said nothing.
Because he was afraid that if I knew, I would make him stop helping Carla.
“Why?”
My voice broke.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Evan started crying again.
“Because you would’ve stopped me.”
I opened my mouth.
Then closed it.
Because he was right.
“We don’t have a lot either,” he continued. “I knew you’d say we couldn’t afford to give away money.”
His voice shook.
“But they had less.”
Then he looked at me.
“And I remember, Mom.”
“Remember what?”
“After Dad died.”
Everything inside me went still.
“I remember you crying when you thought I was asleep.”
My eyes filled with tears.
“I remember when the power almost got shut off.”
“Evan…”
“I remember Mrs. Delgado bringing us groceries.”
He wiped his eyes.
“And that lady from church paying the heating bill.”
I remembered every single thing.
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