Coins rolled across the wood. Several folded birthday bills landed beside them.
It was everything she had saved over the past year.
I pushed most of it back toward her.
“You are not paying for something you need.”
“But I can help.”
“You’re ten. Buying necessities is my responsibility.”
“You already buy everything.”
She didn’t say it disrespectfully.
She said it with such innocence that it hurt more.
“I’m your mother,” I replied. “Taking care of you is my job.”
“I know. But maybe I can make your job a little easier.”
I looked at her wet sock.
Then I looked at the money.
“All right. You can contribute a few dollars, but I’m paying for the rest.”
She smiled and carefully returned the money to her purse.
On our way to the shoe store, we passed a small diner with red vinyl booths and steamed-up windows.
