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I dig it from the bag, glancing at Lorna while I do.

“I called the bank earlier, asking about maybe getting a small, personal loan. I don’t wanna miss it if they’re actually calling back this quickly,” I explain, earning a nod from her.

She leans forward in her own Goode’s Diner frock and twists the stereo, lowering the volume of In The Air Tonight by Phil Collins.

The number on the screen is local, and familiar.

I glance at the time on my phone. It’s nearing 3:30.

The only time we could get away from the Diner to talk to the mechanic and get my things from the car after it was towed was afternoon, but because of this specific time and this specific number, anger flares reactively in my gut.

“Hey th–” I start, but I am cut off by one very angry SAT tutor.

“Listen Mrs. Colt, I don’t want to quit.

You’ve been nice and everything but… I don’t wanna get paid to sit in my car in front of your house for an hour,” John, the tutor states.

He warned me of this, and while I want to talk him out of it or at least attempt to, I show him respect and let him speak.

“I’m taking the other student on my waitlist. She’s in Willowdale, and I’m gonna start tomorrow. I won’t charge you for today.”

I let out a sigh and stare out the passenger window, trying to find a moment of privacy in the small cab of the very old truck. “I’m sorry, John. I really—please, let me pay you for today. I’ll send the money over right now. It’s only right.”

“You don’t have to,” he offers, but then adds, “but thank you.”

Rawley flashes through my mind, and so do all the threats I made this morning. I don’t want to do those things—take things from him, reduce his world, purposely shrink his happiness. But at the same time, I deserve respect, and I have to show him that I mean business .

“You’re welcome and… I’m sorry,” I add before ending the call.

Lorna doesn’t pry, except to ask, “That wasn’t the bank, right?”

I shake my head as I pretend to adjust the plastic little rectangle pinned to my chest reading Clara June. “Not the bank.”

For the rest of the drive back to Goode’s, I run down how much is left on my credit card, along with the upcoming bills required for Tanner’s away games.

Gas, lodging, food out—by the time we’re back I’ve figured out a way to pay for it all, even if it’s a juggling act.

I’m good at juggling acts. My life has had circus-like elements for a few years now. I can handle it.

After staying late to make up for the time I spent sorting out my car issues, I step out of the diner, exhausted and eager to get to the high school.

Ivy from Ink Time across the street gives me a ride to Archie’s school, then home.

With less than ten minutes before halftime, I don’t have time to change out of my dreaded uniform, but I do have time to get Archie in his sweats and boots, cowboy hat on top.

We walk to the high school, and trudge through the crowded bleachers until we find a single seat available.

I sit down and pull Archie’s bony little bottom into my lap .

We look around the bleachers for Rawley, but I don’t find him, and neither does Arch, though I’m not sure he actually searches as much as I do.

Or at all. The scoreboard commands the energy of the crowd, with the Bruisers sitting at 30 and the opposing team, the Loftown Gators, at 24.

Archie twists in my lap, his grin ear to ear, eyes wide.

“There he is! There he is!” Archie exclaims, twisting again to point to a sweaty, tired looking Tanner running out onto the field, tugging his helmet back down.

Archie settles against me, instantly transfixed by the sight of his older brother out there, absorbing cheers and chants from his small town. Despite the car, the stress of the day, Rawley and the tough conversations we have in store—despite it all, my chest expands with a rush of happiness.

This is one of those good times, the kind I’ll look back on later and get emotional about, the kind I’ll miss and wish I could live through just one more time.

I know it. I feel it in my bones. So I let go of the anger as my middle son commands a huddle of players, my youngest chants excitedly in my lap, and I let myself feel the happiness of this evening.

The ref blows his whistle, and in the few seconds of commotion before the ball is snapped to Tanner, Rawley comes down the bleachers near us, pushing his way in to sit next to me. I glance at him, knowing this moment is not the time to have it out.

“Mom, I–”

I shake my head as the ref blows the whistle, ending the brief meeting of the minds on the field. “We’ll talk later. Let’s just enjoy the game, okay?”

He nods, and then the three of us cast our eyes onto the field, practically glowing from the voracious stadium lights.

I’m angry with Rawley, I’m upset about the car, I’m exhausted and I smell like I’ve been having a deep love affair with chicken fried steak, but we’re here.

The moon glows and the town cheers, and I’m determined to end this night with a good football game.

The center makes a call as the clock starts counting down, just a few seconds left before half time is called. The snap is made, and Tanner catches it, adjusting his grip before making a beeline for the open spot on the field.

The rest all just happens so fast. So fast I don’t have time to understand. A big guy on the other team charges Tanner, pinning him to the ground with a thud that seems to be so loud and powerful that the roar of the crowd dies to a hush. The clock stops.

Dean McAllister runs to the field.

Over the speaker system, the announcer says something, but I can’t hear. I can’t hear anything but Archie’s cries and Rawley’s voice, soft and calm in my ear.

“Mom, c’mon. We gotta get down there. Tanner’s hurt.”

Tanner’s hurt.

Tanner is hurt.