I closed the locket.
“Gifts aren’t wages.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t turn returning it into another performance.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
I studied him.
“Do you want me to keep it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I think you were giving me something about where we came from.”
“And I thought it was cheap.”
He looked down.
“I was wrong.”
I slipped the chain over my head.
The locket settled against my chest.
Then Trevor said:
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t want the company.”
I laughed.
“You couldn’t have it if you did.”
“I know.”
He smiled.
Then became serious.
“I mean I don’t think I want what I used to want.”
“What do you want?”
He looked across the yard.
At welders.
Project managers.
Children climbing on a display excavator despite signs asking them not to.
“I like estimating.”
“I like going home at five.”
“I like knowing if I screw up, it’s my screwup.”
