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“Don't turn this around on me, Mom.”
    She chuckled. “Who's the parent here?”
    “Sometimes I wonder.” Ephraim picked up the bottle of vodka. He screwed the cap on tight. “This has to stop.”
    “I know. I'm cutting back.”
    “So you're going to work tonight?”
    “I don't know if I'm up to it.”
    Ephraim sighed. “I'll call and tell Mr. Slovsky you aren't feeling well.” Her boss knew it was just a code for drunk off her ass, but he wouldn't raise much of a fuss, probably. If it wasn't too busy at the store tonight.
    “You're a good boy,” she said. She lay back down on the couch. He kissed her on the cheek and took the cigarette from her. He stamped it out in the ashtray.
    “I love you, Mom.”
    Even if you're hopeless.
    Ephraim went into the kitchen. There was no sign of vomit or purple pills or anything from the night before. That was a break—he hadn't been looking forward to cleaning up that mess. Maybe it had all been a bad dream, or maybe he was losing his mind. Or that coin actually could make wishes come true. Whatever the explanation, he was glad she was home and alive. They'd been given a second chance. He pressed the speed-dial for the ShopRite where his mother worked.
    “Let me guess,” Mr. Slovsky said. “She isn't feeling well.”
    Mr. Slovsky obviously had caller ID, though this had become enough of a routine that he may have simply taken a lucky guess.
    “Hi, Mr. Slovsky. Yeah, my mother…she's sick. I'm sorry, but she isn't going to make it in tonight.”
    “I am so surprised. Maybe I don't feel like coming to work sometimes, but every night, here I am.”
    She almost died last night, Ephraim wanted to scream. He squeezed the phone. “She'll make it up to you. I promise.”
    “You promise? It's her promise I want. You are always a solid worker,” Mr. Slovsky said.
    “Thank you, sir.”
    “No more of this, understand? She has to get her act together. I mean it this time.” Mr. Slovsky lowered his voice. “I notice some missing alcohol. I hope I don't find out it was Madeline. Our stock boy, he's not as good as you. It could have been an accounting error. Once.”
    Ephraim sighed. “Thanks, Mr. Slovsky.”
    “It would be best for you to keep an eye on her. You want a summer job, you let me know. She works when you're around. Not for her boss, but her son? Well.”
    “I'll think about it, sir. Thank you.”
    Ephraim slammed the phone into its cradle. He couldn't believe his mother was actually stealing liquor now. If she lost her job, he doubted she'd be able to find another one. She probably wouldn't even look all that hard, when she couldn't be bothered to go to the one she already had. For all their complaining about her boss, Mr. Slovsky had been more than generous with her.
    Ephraim didn't want to lose his summer covering her shift.
    He searched for the bag with the duplicate wallet, watch, and keys in her purse, but it was gone, just as mysteriously as the body had disappeared from the hospital. At least Ephraim still had the coin.
    He went to the desk in his room, shoved the keyboard and comics aside, and put the quarter down in front of him, heads up. It looked so normal. He reached into his coin jar and pulled out another one for comparison.
    They both had George Washington on the front, but the pictures were reversed—one faced to the left, and the other faced right, with a slightly different portrait. They had the same inscription all around, though: “UNITED STATES OF AMERICA,” “LIBERTY,” “IN GOD WE TRUST.” They both even had a tiny P, which meant they had been struck in the Philadelphia Mint.
    He weighed the two coins in each hand. The magic coin seemed slightly heavier, and shinier. Maybe it had actual silver in it? Starting in 1965, quarters were made of copper and nickel; since this one was newer, they might have changed the composition again.
    He turned each coin over. Neither of them bore the standard eagle on the reverse side, but they both