He did not look at the cloth, his legs already swinging rapidly against the metal legs of the tall patio chair as he scrambled up onto the seat. He pointed a sticky finger toward the gravel driveway.
“Ellie’s car,” he shouted, his body tense with expectation.
A dusty red sedan turned past the mailbox, the gravel crunching loud under the tires.
“She is finally here,” I said, rising from the concrete and wiping the chocolate from my own fingers.
Will did not move, his eyes locked on the car as it came to a stop near the garage.
“Is Daddy going to help her carry the big box?” he asked, his head tilting.
“Daddy is by the basement stairs,” I said, pointing toward the bulkhead door where Brad was retrieving the bag of charcoal.
“He always helps her,” Will said, his small sneakers kicking the chair legs in a steady, rhythmic beat. “He likes her car. He took me in her car when we went to the big park.”
I paused, the damp cloth cold in my hand. “When did you go to the park with Ellie, Will?”
“When you were doing the numbers at your office,” he said, his attention already shifting to a green plastic cup on the table. “We got ice cream. It was blue.”
“You went to the park with Ellie while I was working?” I asked, my voice dropping.
“And Daddy was there too,” Will said, reaching for a stray paper cup on the table and knocking it over. “He had his big truck.”
I stood up, the wind catching my hair as I turned toward the driveway, my mind trying to make sense of his words. Brad had told me he was working on the Westside park contract that afternoon, but he had never mentioned Ellie being there.
I walked around the side of the garage, wiping my hands on my jeans, with Gloria following three steps behind. Brad emerged from the basement stairs, his hands smelling of the charcoal starter fluid he had just set down.
