“I found it in your father’s toolbox after he died,” she said.
Noah’s voice cracked.
“You kept this all these years?”
“Of course.”
He looked at her.
“Why bring it today?”
Margaret smiled sadly.
“Because I wanted you to remember the little boy you used to be.”
Noah lowered his eyes.
“You must be disappointed in the man he became.”
Margaret reached across the table.
“No, sweetheart. I’m disappointed in some of the choices you’ve made.”
She squeezed his hand.
“But people can make better choices.”
He began to cry.
Margaret moved beside him.
And for the first time in seventeen years, mother and son held each other without a telephone or a thousand miles separating them.
That evening, Noah drove Margaret to the hotel where she had reserved a small room.
When they arrived, he saw that it was a budget motel beside a busy road.
The building’s sign flickered.
Margaret had reserved the least expensive room she could find.
He looked at her in disbelief.
“Mom, why didn’t you stay somewhere nicer?”
She smiled.
“Because I wanted to save enough money for the journey home.”
Noah’s stomach tightened.
“How did you get here?”
“Two buses.”
“From Asheville?”
“Three, actually. I had to change in Charlotte.”
