Mom pulled away and scowled at Ray. I jammed a fist into the heaviest pocket, pulling up a fistful of quarters. “Mom,” I nodded. “Here.”

She stared. “What’s this?”

“Her money, Mac.”

Mom’s gaze flickered back to Ray. “Did you give this to her?”

My uncle shook his head. “Naw, Mac. That’s Theresa’s money. What she made today.”

I had done something with myself: something brave and successful that not even my mother could believe.

Then Mom yanked open my front apron pocket, throwing me back onto my heels for a moment, as she stared down into it. Her voice was still breathy with irritation: “Well.”

She let go, and I righted myself. My whole body felt tired and good. I had done something with myself: something brave and successful that not even my mother could believe.

“I don’t know, Theresa. That’s an awful lot of money.”

Ray laughed. “I’m telling you, Mac. Theresa’s sharp. People like a pretty, young thing like her.”

Mom looked at him ruefully. “You be careful, Ray. She’s not yours; she’s mine.”

Once I’d learned what I could do, Mom couldn’t stop me from doing it again. But she could keep me wary; the world was still a frightening place.

“You’ve got to be careful, Theresa. Alone out there in the street like that. Anything could have happened.”

“But nothing did.”

“It could have, Theresa. That’s the point. You have to watch out. Things can always happen.” What my mother was afraid of — despite all of her wild, uncareful living — I was never quite certain of. “You just don’t always know who you can trust.”