Emma smiled back.
“Good.”
Then she pulled me toward the parking lot before I said something that would’ve made her principal’s afternoon harder.
We sat in my truck for a minute with the doors closed and neither of us moving.
Emma let out a long breath.
“I hate that woman.”
“Don’t hate her.”
“Why not?”
“Because hate is too much work, and I’ve already got a route tomorrow.”
That got a laugh out of her.
Small, but real.
Then she looked over at me, and all the heat went out of her face.
“You okay?”
I stared through the windshield at the school doors.
At the stream of people coming and going.
At Mason walking to an older pickup with his backpack hanging low.
At a broad-shouldered man in a work jacket climbing out of the driver’s side.
His face was drawn with exhaustion.
Even from that distance, I could see it.
Mason ran to him.
Not like kids run to men they are scared of.
Like kids run to the place they know is still standing.
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