There were nights when she was so exhausted she barely knew how to keep going.
But she wasn’t facing everything alone anymore.
Mom began visiting every Wednesday and Saturday.
At first, she helped with the babies so Maya could rest.
Then she started teaching Maya our family’s recipes.
Before long, she was simply going because she wanted to.
Somewhere along the way, Maya and her sons became family.
Noah and Eli now call my mother Nana June.
Noah is still the noisy one.
Eli can apparently sleep through almost anything.
And Mom wears Dad’s watch every single day.
She had a jeweler make extra holes in the old leather strap so it would fit.
He offered to replace the cracked band.
She refused.
He offered to polish away the little scratch near the number four.
She told him not to touch it.
“Those marks belong to Tom,” she said.
My life changed too.
I still work at register three.
I still count every dollar.
My old Honda still makes strange noises, although Dale eventually repaired the worst problem and refused to accept payment.
But one January evening, I enrolled in an online veterinary assistant program.
Two evenings a week.
At my current pace, it’ll take eighteen months.
When I told Mom, she cried.
Then she found an old photograph of me at twelve, missing a front tooth and holding a very unhappy orange cat.
She placed it on our refrigerator.
“Your dad would’ve taken you out for pancakes to celebrate,” she said.
I smiled.
“I know.”
At work, I keep a small glass jar beneath my register now.
An old pickle jar, carefully washed.
Whenever I can afford it, I add a few dollars.
Lori contributes too, though she pretends she doesn’t.
Mike pretends he hasn’t noticed.
On the front of the jar is a handwritten label.
**FOR THE NEXT TEN MINUTES.**
When a customer comes through my line and can’t quite afford everything, I quietly make up the difference.
No announcements.
No embarrassing conversations.
I simply hand them their receipt and tell them they’re all set.
Sometimes, other people leave money in the jar.
A few coins.
Folded bills.
Once, someone left sixty dollars in an envelope marked:
**FOR WHOEVER NEEDS IT.**
I’m fairly sure I know who left it.
