Sylvia turned toward me for the first time.

She hitched her heavy handbag strap higher on her shoulder with a quick, practiced jerk of her elbow.

“I’m saving my son from a disaster,” Sylvia said.

She raised her voice, letting it carry straight across the rows of blue plastic seats.

“He didn’t sign up for this level of stress.

You’re the mother.

Figure it out.”

Two night-shift clerks behind the registration glass stopped typing.