"After grocery," Heidi said. "We're out of milk."
Cody offered to push the cart. Charlie insisted on bringing the truck in the car. Heidi almost said no—too bulky, too easy to drop in a parking lot—and then heard herself about to manage again. She said yes. They buckled the Thunder Haul into the footwell with a seatbelt improvised through its chassis, which made Charlie laugh so hard he snorted, which made Cody laugh, which made Heidi's chest loosen one notch.
At the store, an older woman in the cereal aisle admired the truck peeking from the cart. "For your big boy?" she asked Heidi, nodding at Cody.
"For the birthday boy," Heidi said, hand on Charlie's hair. "He turned four yesterday."
Charlie stood taller. Cody pretended to read a cereal box and failed to hide a grin. The older woman cooed appropriately and moved on. Heidi stood for a second longer than shopping required, feeling the sentence settle: for the birthday boy. Not for the one who would use it. Not for the one who would keep it nice. For the birthday boy.
In the parking lot, Charlie wanted to roll the truck across three parking spaces. Heidi started to refuse on safety grounds—real ones this time—and then compromised: two spaces, her body as a bumper between Charlie and moving cars, Cody spotting from the other side. The Thunder Haul conquered asphalt. A pebble jammed a wheel. Cody dug it out with a house key. Charlie declared Cody the official truck mechanic. Cody accepted the title with a bow that was only half ironic.
They returned home to find Frank's car already in the driveway. He sat on the front step with a folded newspaper and a paper cup of coffee from the place on Maple that still wrote names wrong on purpose for charm. He raised the cup in greeting.
"I said I would call," Frank admitted. "Then I drove instead. Old men are allowed to upgrade their promises."
Charlie ran to him with the truck lifted like an offering. "It climbed the parking lot!"
"A worthy mountain," Frank said solemnly. "Any injuries?"
"A pebble," Charlie reported. "Cody fixed it."
Frank looked at Cody over Charlie's head. "Mechanic work. Respectable."
Cody shrugged, pleased despite himself. "It was one pebble."
Inside, Heidi put away milk while Frank occupied the grey sofa as if he had never left. Charlie demonstrated parking-lot technique on the living room carpet until the demonstration became play and play became the soft background noise of a house recovering.
Frank caught Heidi alone when she came to collect abandoned cups from yesterday still hiding behind a plant.
"I owe you a clearer apology than I gave last night," Frank said.