“Absolutely.”
Owen looked so sweet as he marched outside, clutching a small cloth like a hero’s tool. For the first thirty minutes, we were a solid team. He scrubbed the tires with the focus of a little trooper, and I tackled the front seats, pulling out old receipts and gooey candy wrappers.
But soon, Owen flopped onto the curb, puffing out his cheeks.
“Mom, why don’t we just use the secret car Daddy drives?”
I froze. My hands, holding a rag and a sponge, went still.
“Secret car?” I repeated gently, keeping my voice soft.
We were only halfway through cleaning, and I didn’t need this distraction, but I had to know what Owen meant.
He nodded, casually picking at a dried leaf.
“Yeah, the shiny blue one. The lady always lets Daddy drive it.”
My pulse raced.
“What lady, buddy?”
Owen shrugged, totally unbothered.
