“Laura made you promise,” Eleanor said quietly.

She looked out the front window of the market, watching the early winter frost melt off the sidewalk.

“On Highway 24, she asked us to make sure Mark and Emma never went without,” Eleanor said.

She adjusted her white apron strings, pulling them tight around her waist.

“I keep my promises,” I said.

I set the last can of tomato soup on the middle shelf.

The red and white label faced out, perfectly lined up with the others.

“Mark needs that money for Emma,” Eleanor said.

“Oakridge is expensive.

Raising a little girl alone is a heavy cross for a man to bear.”

“I know it is,” I said.

I walked over to the front counter, reached past Eleanor, and opened the register drawer myself.

The metal track groaned.

I reached into the back compartment under the coin cups, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and laid it flat next to the cash tray.