He swept the bills together with both hands, fast, and shoved the whole mess into his backpack, and zipped it closed, all in one guilty motion.

“What are you doing?” I asked, from the doorway.

“Nothing,” he said, too quickly, holding the backpack against his chest.

I looked at it, at the bulge of it, at his hands wrapped around it.

There had been a great deal of money in that stack, more than a few weeks of dishwashing should have produced, and the sight of my son hiding it from me sent a strange chill through me that I could not immediately name.

Chapter 7 — Sal Pays Me in Small Bills