She nodded without looking up.
“There’ll still be some later.”
Nathan stopped.
A year and a half earlier, a hungry child had told him that later never knew whether food would still exist.
Now she said the word without fear.
He closed the pantry door softly.
For the first time, later knew.
Long after the paperwork was finished, Carmen asked Elelliana what she remembered most about the grocery store. Nathan expected her to say the formula, the cashier, or the carts. She surprised him.
“The penny that rolled away,” she said.
“Why that?”
“Because I thought if I lost one cent, nobody would believe I was trying to pay.”
Nathan looked at the little jar on the shelf.
“You never had to prove that.”
“I know now.”
She returned to her homework, leaving the coins exactly where they were. Nathan did not touch them. Some things were safest when they belonged entirely to the child who had carried them.
