In the tiny blue car the grandmother turned her head slightly to speak to her grandson behind her.
“You still there, sugar?”
The little boy nodded. He stretched the seat belt in anxious excitement, too shy to speak.
“Baby, I can’t tell when you’re just nodding.”
They were driving home from Waffle House somewhere around Henderson, where they had met halfway with the boy’s parents. This was an every-other-weekend ritual for them to bond.
“Whatcha getting into this weekend?” She asked him, as if crossing the parish line meant entering an extraordinary world.
The boy smiled, silently daydreaming about his adventures.