But where are we going?
I said get in the car!
Noah got in the passenger side of my old station wagon and buckled himself in, biting at his lip and looking scared.
I didn’t mean to scare him, but I was upset.
Jackson stood there, his face pale and drawn, like a man in a dream he can’t wake up from.
“Where are you going to go?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
“You can stay here. I’ll go.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“I’m sorry, Wiley. Tell me what to do to make this right! Please.”
“Leave me the fuck alone. That’s what you can do.”
I got in the car and slammed the door. 53: Needing Every Dollar
I pulled into the parking lot at Food World, turned off the car. My shift started in ten minutes. I could not afford to take sick days. I was on the schedule for about thirty hours a week. At $7.55 an hour—well, you do the math. We needed every dollar. Those who took sick days quickly found their hours reduced as a punishment.