The man gave a short laugh.
“We’re fine here.”
“These seats are assigned.”
“You can move them.”
Caleb tugged gently at my sleeve.
“Mom.”
I looked down. His face had gone red.
People nearby were staring.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “We can watch from the hallway.”
Something in me cracked.
He was asking because strangers were staring, and giving up had become less embarrassing than making everyone wait for him.
After everything Caleb had survived, this man had made him think the simplest solution was for him to disappear.
“No,” I said softly. “We can’t.”
Then a voice behind us said, “You. Stand up. Now.”
Everyone turned.
An elderly woman sat one row behind us.
She was small, with silver hair and a plain gray cardigan buttoned to her throat.
An old metal lunchbox rested on her knees.
She hadn’t raised her voice. She didn’t look angry, either.
