Greg stood behind me with his arms crossed. “Hannah. Come on. He’s got a whole toy box at home.”
“It’s two dollars, Greg.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
He gave me that smile I’d been seeing for eight years, the one that used to feel warm. “The point is you buy every piece of junk you see. My country girl can’t walk past a yard sale.”
“Boys don’t push strollers.”
Marla laughed politely. I didn’t.
I handed her the quarters and crouched down to Leo.
“It’s yours, buddy. Take care of it.”
His whole face lit up like Christmas. “I will, Mama. I promise.”
We walked home, Leo pushing his new treasure with the seriousness of a father walking a bride down the aisle.
He’d push a little, I’d hold still.
I grew up on a farm and learned early that things didn’t need to be new to be loved. A stitched seam holds just as well as a fresh one.
Greg walked beside me with his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know why you encourage him with stuff like this.”
“He’s six. He likes what he likes.”
“Boys don’t push strollers, Hannah.”
He stepped into the garage to take a call.
“This one does.”
Greg shook his head and let it drop.
That was our rhythm.
He’d push a little, I’d hold still.
He’d say, ‘Leave the complicated stuff to me,’ and I’d smile because I hated pointless fights more than being talked down to.
“Can we go to the special place again?”
That night at dinner, Greg’s phone buzzed on the table.
He flipped it face down before I could see the name.
“Work?” I asked.
“Nothing important.”
Later, he took a call in the garage. I heard his voice through the door but not the words.
I had no idea Leo already knew more.
When he came back, he ruffled Leo’s hair.
“Dad, are you picking me up tomorrow?”
“Not tomorrow, buddy. I have to leave for a business trip.”
Leo’s face fell. “Then when you come back, can we go to the special place again?”
Greg’s eyes flicked to me for half a second. “We’ll see.”
I stirred my coffee and didn’t ask what the special place was. I told myself little boys gave ordinary places important names.
“Are you a mommy now?”
After dinner, Leo pushed his stroller down our driveway in the fading light, humming to the doll.
Greg watched from the front window, something in his face pulling tight.
At the time, I thought the secret was whatever Greg was hiding on his phone.
I had no idea Leo already knew more about it than I did.
“I’m taking care of Carol’s baby.”
