Paige Walked Her Paper Route Back

What she said

I told Paige the next afternoon. I sat down on the edge of her bed and I told her the truth in plain words, because she is fourteen and she has always known when I am handling her.

I said, “Honey, Grandpa Melvin told Pete you quit the route. He told customers, too. And I think he collected your October money, and I don’t think he has it anymore.”

She did not cry. That surprised me. She sat very still with the blanket over her knees and looked at the window for a long minute.

Then she said, “How much?”

“I think about four hundred and ten dollars.”

“That’s the laptop,” she said, almost to herself. “That’s the whole rest of the laptop.”

“I know.”

“Mom.” She turned to look at me, and I saw her eyes were dry and very clear. “Do not call Pete. Don’t call Grandma. Please. Let me do it.”

“Honey, I can fix this in about ten minutes.”

“I know you can. That’s why I’m asking.” She took a breath. “If you fix it, everybody hears it from you. Pete hears it from you and Grandma hears it from you and the customers hear it from Pete. And they’ll think, poor Paige, she needed her mom. I don’t want to be poor Paige.”

I did not answer right away.

“They think I quit,” she said. “I didn’t quit. I want them to see my face when I tell them. I want Mrs. Ebling to see me standing on her step.”

“The doctor has to clear you to walk first,” I said finally.

“Okay.”

“And I drive behind you the whole way. Every house.”

“Okay.”

“And if you get tired, you stop. I mean it. No hero stuff.”

“Okay, Mom.” And then, very quietly, “Thank you for letting me.”

It is the hardest thing I have ever agreed to, and I do not regret it.