I put the lid back on the shoebox.
“And your young man stood behind my husband’s counter,” I said, “under my husband’s photograph, and told me you have to be careful with people like me.”
On the porch steps, Brandon turned around.
His face was red. His eyes were wet.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Mrs. Whitaker. I’m so sorry.”
“For what, exactly?” I asked.
He looked confused. “For… for what I said. For not cashing your check. For—”
“No,” I said. “That’s not what I mean. I’m asking what you’re sorry for. Are you sorry you got caught? Or are you sorry you did it?”
He opened his mouth.
Then he closed it.
He looked at me for a long time.
“I don’t know,” he said finally. Honestly. “I don’t know yet.”
I nodded.
“That’s the first true thing you’ve said to me,” I said. “Come up here and sit down, Mr. Pierce.”
