I closed my eyes.
“Of course he did.”
“I told him absolutely not.”
Evan then tried to give Monica the $437 anyway.
She refused.
He insisted.
Frank tried to take the envelope away.
Evan stepped backward, collided with a bus cart, and several plates fell.
When Evan instinctively tried catching one, it broke against the floor and sliced his palm.
“That’s the crash you heard.”
Frank looked ashamed.
“That’s when I called you.”
I looked toward the booth.
Evan was showing Lucy how to fold a paper napkin into some kind of crooked swan.
She laughed.
I hadn’t heard her laugh until then.
Frank followed my gaze.
“He’s a good kid.”
“Yes.”
“Too good sometimes.”
I shook my head.
“No. There’s no such thing as too good.”
Then I reconsidered.
“But there is such a thing as believing goodness means destroying yourself for everyone else.”
Frank nodded.
“That’s what I was trying to tell him.”
I looked at the money on the table.
Four hundred and thirty-seven dollars.
To an adult, it wasn’t enough to change a life.
To my son, it was six months of Saturdays.
Six months of burned fingers and wet sleeves.
Six months of french-fry smell in his hair.
Six months of saying, “Almost enough.”
I finally understood what those words had meant.
Almost enough to keep Lucy warm.
Almost enough for groceries.
Almost enough for one motel room.
Almost enough for the deposit.
Almost enough to solve something he should never have believed he had to solve alone.
I stood.
“Okay.”
Frank looked at me.
“Okay what?”
“We’re going to finish what Evan started.”
He raised an eyebrow.
I added quickly, “But we’re going to do it the way adults are supposed to.”
Part 7 — More Hands
The next morning, my kitchen table looked like a disaster.
Coffee cups.
