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My heart began pounding harder.
“Sal, I asked you a question.”
“I know.”
“Then answer me.”
“I don’t think I should explain this over the phone.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want you hearing half the story and assuming the worst.”
That sentence scared me more than anything else he could have said.
“Is my son in trouble?”
“No.”
“Did he steal something?”
“No.”
“Did someone hurt him?”
This time, Sal didn’t answer immediately.
My entire body went cold.
“Sal?”
“He’s not in trouble,” he said carefully. “But there’s something you need to see.”
“What?”
“I’ll explain when you get here.”
I stood up so quickly my chair rolled backward.
“Give me twenty minutes.”
“Take your time.”
I grabbed my purse.
Then I stopped.
“Sal?”
“Yeah?”
“Is Caleb there?”
“No.”
“Where is he?”
“I sent him home early.”
I swallowed.
“Why?”
“Because after what happened yesterday, I didn’t think he should be here alone.”
My fingers tightened around my phone.
“What happened yesterday?”
Sal hesitated.
Then he said quietly,
“That’s another thing we need to talk about.”
The call ended.
I stared at the screen.
For a moment, I considered calling Caleb.
Then I didn’t.
I knew my son.
If he sensed I was frightened, he’d either shut down or tell me another lie.
And I couldn’t afford another lie.
Not now.
I drove to the diner with my hands trembling against the steering wheel.
The entire way there, my mind kept replaying the past six months.
Every Saturday morning.
Every paycheck.
Every time Caleb had smiled and said, “Almost there.”
I remembered the first time he had shown me the bicycle through the store window.
He’d stood there for nearly ten minutes.
“Look at that one, Mom.”
“I see it.”
“It’s got seven gears.”
“Seven?”
“Yeah.”
He had grinned.
“And those tires are better for trails.”
I had laughed.
“You’ve done your research.”
“I know everything about it.”
I’d looked at the price tag.
It wasn’t outrageous.
But it was more than I could comfortably spend at the time.
So I’d said,
“Maybe we can work something out.”
He shook his head.
“No. I’m going to get it myself.”
I’d been proud of him.
Maybe too proud.
Maybe I should have asked more questions.
When I reached the diner, I saw Sal standing behind the front counter.
He was a broad-shouldered man in his late fifties with gray hair and tired eyes.
I’d met him only twice before.
Both times, he’d been friendly.
He had always spoken highly of Caleb.
“Hard worker,” he’d told me once.
“Quiet kid, but reliable.”
Now he didn’t smile when I walked in.
He simply looked at me.
Then he locked the front door.
“Where is everyone?” I asked.
“I sent the staff home.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t want anybody overhearing this.”
My stomach tightened.
Sal walked toward a booth in the corner.
“Sit down.”
I didn’t.
“Tell me what’s going on.”
He looked at me for several seconds.
Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small envelope.
He placed it on the table.
“This belongs to your son.”
I stared at it.
“What is it?”
“Open it.”
I slowly picked it up.
My name was written across the front.
In handwriting I recognized immediately.
Caleb’s handwriting.
My breath caught.
I looked at Sal.
“Where did you get this?”
“He gave it to me.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a folded sheet of notebook paper.
I unfolded it.
There were only three words.
Please don’t tell Mom.
My hands began shaking.
I looked up.
“What is this?”
Sal leaned back.
“I don’t know what he was planning to do with it.”
“Then why would he give it to you?”
“Because he was scared.”
“Of what?”
Sal looked toward the kitchen.
“That’s the part I don’t know how to explain.”
I sat down.
“Start from the beginning.”
Sal nodded.
“About four months ago, Caleb started asking me if he could work extra hours.”
I frowned.
“Extra hours?”
“Yes.”
“He told me you only needed him on Saturdays.”
“That’s true. But he kept asking.”
“Why?”
“At first, he said he wanted to reach his bicycle goal faster.”
I almost laughed.
Except there was nothing funny about any of this.
“That sounds like him.”
“That’s what I thought too.”
Sal folded his hands on the table.
“But then something changed.”
“What?”
“He stopped talking about the bicycle.”
I stared at him.
“When?”
“Maybe three months ago.”
My heart sank.
“What did he start talking about?”
“People.”
I didn’t understand.
“What people?”
“Kids.”
“What kids?”
Sal shook his head.
“I don’t know their names.”
“Then what did Caleb say?”
“He started asking strange questions.”
“Like what?”
Sal looked uncomfortable.
“Whether I knew a boy named Marcus.”
The name meant nothing to me.
“No.”
“That’s what I told him.”
“Who is Marcus?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why would my son ask you about him?”
“Because Marcus had apparently been coming around the diner.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does he look like?”
“Sixteen, maybe seventeen. Tall. Dark hair. Usually wore a gray hoodie.”
I stared at Sal.
“Did he work there?”
“No.”
“Was he a customer?”
“Sometimes.”
“How often?”
“Enough that I noticed.”
I leaned forward.
“Did he talk to Caleb?”
“Yes.”
My heart sank.
“How often?”
“At first, only occasionally.”
“And then?”
“Then Caleb started meeting him outside.”
I felt something inside me collapse.
“Outside the diner?”
Sal nodded.
“Behind the building. Near the alley.”
“Did you see them?”
“Once.”
“What were they doing?”
“Talking.”
“About what?”
“I couldn’t hear.”
I stood up.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t know there was anything wrong.”
“You knew my thirteen-year-old son was meeting a seventeen-year-old boy behind your restaurant and you didn’t think I should know?”
“I should have said something.”
“Yes.”
“I know.”
I paced toward the window.
My thoughts were racing.
Marcus.
The hidden money.
The torn clothes.
The creek.
The lies.
It suddenly felt as if six months of my son’s life had been happening right in front of me while I saw none of it.
I turned back.
“How much money did you pay him?”
“About forty-five dollars a week.”
“Forty-five?”
“Sometimes more if he worked extra.”
I did the math in my head.
Even after six months, that wasn’t enough to explain the thick stack of cash I’d seen.
“That’s not enough money to make that pile.”
“I know.”
“So where did the rest come from?”
Sal looked at me.
“That’s exactly what I wanted to know.”
He reached into a drawer beneath the counter.
Then he pulled out a small notebook.
“This is my payroll record.”
He opened it and turned it toward me.
Every Saturday was listed.
Hours worked.
Amount paid.
Signature.
I looked at the numbers.
There was nothing unusual.
Until I noticed something.
I pointed at the page.
“What is this?”
Sal looked.
“That?”
“Yes.”
He frowned.
“That’s a note I made.”
“Why?”
“Because Caleb started refusing cash.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“He asked me to pay him differently.”
“How?”
“Part cash. Part check.”
“Why?”
“He said he wanted to make sure he didn’t lose the money.”
My eyebrows drew together.
“But you just said he wasn’t saving it.”
“I know.”
Sal closed the notebook.
“That’s when I started getting suspicious.”
“What did you do?”
“I asked him.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“He just looked at me.”
Sal rubbed his forehead.
“Then he asked me if I trusted him.”
I stared at him.
“What did you say?”
“I said yes.”
“Why?”
“Because until then, I did.”
The diner became silent.
Then Sal said something that made my blood run cold.
“Two weeks ago, I saw Caleb give an envelope to Marcus.”
I stopped breathing.
“An envelope?”
“Yes.”
“With money?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t stop them?”
“I almost did.”
“Almost?”
“Then Caleb saw me.”
Sal’s expression changed.
“He looked terrified.”
“What happened?”
“He ran.”
I shook my head.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“I know.”
“Where did he go?”
“Toward the creek.”
My stomach dropped.
“The creek?”
Sal nodded.
“The same place where he told you he fell.”
I couldn’t speak.
Suddenly, the image of Caleb walking through the back door that night came rushing back.
Mud-covered shoes.
Torn sleeve.
Scrape on his cheek.
Eyes avoiding mine.
I had believed he had fallen.
But maybe he hadn’t.
“Did Marcus follow him?” I whispered.
“I don’t know.”
“You saw them?”
“No.”
“Then what happened?”
“About an hour later, Caleb came back.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Was he injured?”
“I didn’t see his face.”
“Why not?”
“He had his hood pulled over his head.”
I stared at him.
“Sal, please.”
He looked down.
“I should have called you.”
“Yes.”
“I thought Caleb would tell you.”
