A Twenty-Dollar Bill Dropped Into the Dust Beside a Tennessee Highway

“You need to go, Garrett,” she said.

Her voice was low and flat, but her hands were shaking against the baby’s back.

“I’m not here to make trouble,” I said.

“I don’t have any money,” she said, tugging at the collar of the boy’s shirt with short, jittery pulls.

“I gave the landlord my last sixty dollars on Monday.”

“I’m not here about money,” I said.

“Then why are you standing here on my steps?” she asked.

“Because I was wrong, Megan,” I said.