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I closed his door and hurried around the car, checking on him in the mirror as soon as I’d sat down again.
“Little bites, Rhett,” I reminded him. “Chew it up good, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Um, no,” I said, pausing to watch him as he took a huge bite. “Small bites.”
“’mall bites,” he agreed.
“Try again.”
The bite he took was so small, I doubted he could even taste it.
“Thank you.” I backed out of my parking spot and drove out of the lot, my eyes half on the road and half on Rhett. I knew I shouldn’t be letting him eat in the car, but I’d had to relax on some of my own rules while we were traveling. If we’d stopped for him every time he had to eat, we’d still be somewhere in California.
“All done,” Rhett said with a sigh as he looked out his window.
“We won’t be in the car that long, bud,” I assured him, getting onto the freeway.
“No car, please,” he whined. He’d finished his breakfast bar already and was no longer distracted.
I grimaced. “Just look out the windows, bud,” I said. “There’s all sorts of stuff to see.”
“Rhettall done,” he complained. Then, blessed silence filled the car.
I glanced at him to make sure he was okay, then smiled a little to myself as I found a familiar radio station. There was something about the stations of your childhood that just stuck with you. No matter where I lived, I always remembered the stations we had in Eugene. It was going to be a long day, but the nostalgia of the familiar music was a balm.
“That’s it,” I said about ten minutes later, parked in front of my childhood home. It looked smaller than I remembered.
“Grandma’s house?” Rhett asked, straining toward his window.
“Yeah, that was my house when I was little like you,” I replied. “I lived there with Grandma and Grandpa.”
“Go,” he wheedled, pulling on his shoulder straps. “Me go.”
“We can go look,” I said with a smile as I turned the car off. “But just from the outside, okay?”
“Okay!”
“You need to stay with Mama,” I warned as I got him out of his seat. “No running away.”
“No runnin’ away,” he repeated.
“And you have to hold my hand.”
“Grandma,” he said as he gripped my hand. “Grandma house.”
“Yeah, this was Grandma’s old house.” We walked forward to the edge of the yard and peeked over the fence.
“Me go,” Rhett said excitedly, pulling at my shirt so I’d lift him up to see.
“No, buddy, we can’t go in there,” I said, my heart thundering in my throat as I took in the familiar backyard. It was stupid, it was just a hammock—a million people had one—but something about it hanging there, swinging slightly in the breeze made me homesick for the past.
“Grandma,” Rhett ordered, wiggling on my hip. “Grandma’s house.”
It was then that I realized my serious royal fuck up. My chest ached as Rhett looked toward the front of the house, wiggling to get down. He thought my mom was in there.
“Grandma’s not here, buddy,” I said gently as I carried him back to the car. “This was my house when I was little. It’s someone else’s house now.”
