“He says he needs to speak with you.”
“Why?”
Her voice softened.
“Becky, he’s crying.”
When I arrived, Dale was sitting in a small plastic chair.
He wore his usual gray work shirt and heavy boots.
But he looked completely different from the man who’d dumped those pennies outside my home.
His shoulders were hunched.
His eyes were red.
On his lap sat an old coffee can.
He stood when he saw me.
“Becky.”
I remained near the doorway.
“What do you want, Dale?”
He placed the can on the counter.
“I need to give you something.”
He removed the lid.
Inside were bundles of cash.
“Four thousand three hundred dollars,” he said.
I stared at him.
“What’s that for?”
“The rest of the school. Every grade. I asked Mrs. Fogle how much lunch debt was outstanding.”
I looked toward her.
She nodded.
Then I turned back to Dale.
