The driver was probably in his late fifties or early sixties.
Gray hair, baseball cap, glasses.
Just a regular older guy.
Ellie walked up to the window and he immediately said, “Hey, kiddo.”
Then he saw me standing behind her.
He just stared.
Not dramatically.
He genuinely looked like he was trying to place my face.
Finally he said, “You’re Ellie’s mom?”
“Yes.”
He nodded a couple of times.
Then he said my first name.
“Sarah?”
I hadn’t told him.
I said, “Do I know you?”
He gave a nervous little laugh.
“Probably not anymore.”
That answer annoyed me more than anything.
“What does that mean?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he reached under the counter, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and held it out — not to me, but to Ellie.
“Make sure your mom reads this,” he said quietly. “All of it. Tonight.”
