We stood in the driveway staring at the envelope.
Neither of us touched it.
The afternoon sun had begun to sink behind the houses, but I barely noticed.
“Where did you get that?”
Evan shook his head.
“I don't know.”
“You said you didn't know.”
“I don't.”
“Was it in your backpack when you left this morning?”
He thought.
“I don't remember.”
I looked at the envelope again.
“Did one of those boys put it there?”
“I don't know.”
I took out my phone.
“I think we should call Officer Ramirez.”
Evan nodded.
The police arrived less than twenty minutes later.
Ramirez examined the envelope without opening it.
“Where was it found?”
“In his backpack.”
She looked at Evan.
“Did anyone have access to your backpack today?”
He shook his head.
“Not that I know of.”
“Was it ever out of your sight?”
He thought again.
“At the diner.”
“When?”
“During lunch.”
“Where was it?”
“Behind the counter.”
“Could someone have reached it?”
Sal answered.
“Possibly.”
Ramirez nodded.
“Then we'll treat it as evidence.”
She carefully placed the envelope inside a clear evidence bag.
The message was enough to concern her.
But she didn't tell us what it meant.
Instead, she asked Evan more questions.
Had anyone else approached him?
Had anyone contacted him online?
Had anyone asked about Carla?
Had anyone mentioned his mother?
That last question made me look at her.
“Why ask that?”
“Because if someone knows his routine, his workplace, and his money, we need to understand how much information they have.”
I felt a chill.
Evan looked at the floor.
Ramirez noticed.
“Evan?”
He swallowed.
“One of them asked where I lived.”
I closed my eyes.
“Did you tell him?”
“No.”
“Did he already know?”
“I think so.”
Ramirez wrote something down.
“Does he know your name?”
“Yes.”
“Your mother's name?”
Evan nodded.
“Does he know where you go to school?”
He hesitated.
“I don't know.”
I suddenly wanted to pull my son inside and lock every door.
But Ramirez remained calm.
“We'll follow up.”
After she left, Evan went upstairs.
I stayed in the kitchen.
Sal had offered to remain until we were sure everything was settled.
I poured two cups of coffee.
“Does this happen often?” I asked him.
“What?”
“Kids getting involved in things they shouldn't.”
He looked down.
“Not like this.”
I sat across from him.
“Why didn't you tell me about the boys?”
He was silent.
Then he said, “Evan asked me not to.”
I stared at him.
“He asked you not to?”
“He was afraid you'd stop him from working.”
“You should have called me anyway.”
“I know.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“I thought I could keep an eye on him.”
“You couldn't.”
“I know.”
There was no defensiveness in his voice.
That made it harder to be angry.
“I care about that boy,” he said.
“I know.”
“He reminds me of my own son.”
I looked at him.
Sal had never mentioned having children.
He noticed my expression.
“My son was sixteen when he died.”
The room went quiet.
“When?”
“Eight years ago.”
I didn't ask how.
I didn't need to.
His face told me enough.
“That is why you let Evan stay?” I asked.
He nodded.
“He came in one Saturday asking for work. He was too young, but I figured if I kept him washing dishes where I could see him, at least he'd be safe.”
I thought about that.
“You knew he was giving his money away.”
“Yes.”
“And you still let him.”
“I thought if I refused, he'd find somewhere else.”
That made sense.
But it didn't make the situation acceptable.
“We need to set rules.”
Sal nodded.
“Absolutely.”
I heard footsteps on the stairs.
Evan appeared.
He was carrying a small cardboard box.
“What's that?”
He set it on the table.
“My savings.”
I opened the box.
Inside were envelopes.
Each one had a date written on it.
The first was six months old.
I picked it up.
There was sixty dollars inside.
The next had sixty.
Then another.
Every week.
I looked at my son.
“You kept records.”
He nodded.
“I wanted to know how much I gave.”
I counted the envelopes.
There were more than I expected.
Some were empty.
“What happened to these?”
“I gave them to Carla.”
He had written the amount and date on each empty envelope.
I ran my fingers over the handwriting.
His handwriting.
Careful.
Small.
Precise.
It suddenly occurred to me that he had been documenting his own sacrifice as if he were keeping accounts for a business.
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“So I wouldn't forget.”
“Forget what?”
“That I was supposed to help.”
I closed the box.
“You don't have to carry that responsibility anymore.”
He nodded.
“But I still want to help her.”
“We'll figure out a safe way.”
“Okay.”
That night, I called Carla.
She answered immediately.
“Is Evan okay?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
I told her about the envelope.
She went silent.
Then she said, “I was afraid of that.”
My stomach tightened.
“What do you mean?”
“I think I know who they are.”
I sat up.
“Who?”
“There was a man who used to come to the diner.”
“What man?”
“I don't know his name.”
“Then how do you know him?”
“He asked questions.”
“What kind?”
“About Evan.”
I gripped the phone.
“When?”
“Several weeks ago.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I didn't think it mattered.”
“What did he ask?”
She hesitated.
“How often Evan worked.”
My heart began pounding.
“Anything else?”
“He asked how much Sal paid him.”
I stood.
“Did he know where Evan took the money?”
Carla's voice dropped.
“He knew about the children.”
I closed my eyes.
“How?”
“I don't know.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“No.”
“Did he ever come near your house?”
Silence.
“Carla?”
“I saw his car once.”
“Where?”
“Outside my apartment.”
“When?”
“Three days ago.”
I sat down again.
“What did the car look like?”
She described it.
Dark sedan.
Older model.
One broken rear light.
I wrote everything down.
Then she said something that stopped me.
“He wasn't alone.”
“Who was with him?”
“I don't know.”
“Was it one of the boys?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“I couldn't see.”
I thanked her and ended the call.
Evan was standing in the doorway.
“You heard?”
I nodded.
He looked frightened.
“Mom.”
I went to him.
“We'll deal with it.”
“Is Carla okay?”
“She is.”
“Did they hurt her?”
“No.”
He relaxed slightly.
I hugged him.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message had arrived from an unknown number.
I opened it.
There was a photograph.
My house.
Taken from across the street.
The image showed our front door.
Our driveway.
And my car.
Underneath it were six words.
STOP ASKING QUESTIONS ABOUT THE MONEY.
I couldn't breathe.
Evan saw my face.
“What is it?”
I didn't answer immediately.
Then I turned the phone toward him.
He stared at the photograph.
His lips parted.
“Mom.”
“I know.”
He looked toward the window.
“They know where we live.”
I locked the front door.
Then the back door.
Then every window.
For the first time, I understood that the danger wasn't just following my son anymore.
It had reached our home.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: Someone Had Photographed Our House, and the More We Learned About Evan’s Secret, the Less I Believed This Was Only About Money
My Son Said He Had Found a Saturday Job for His Bicycle, Yet Something in His Careful Little Smile Made Me Uneasy
Part 6 of 12
