“In front of the street.”
“People saw.”
“Your car has embarrassed my children in front of their classmates,” I said. “Three mornings, three late marks, Ben’s teacher asking why his name kept appearing on the register.”
She laughed, not pleasantly. “Don’t be dramatic.”
The anger came up clearly then, clean and uncomplicated, and I let it.
“Oliver asked me last week whether we should start leaving home earlier so we don’t get stuck. He is six years old and he was trying to plan around your parking habits.”
Something shifted in Denise’s face. Not a full change. A slight adjustment.
“He asked me if his teacher thought he was naughty because of the late marks.”
Her eyes moved sideways.
“He’s six,” I said. “He thought being late meant he’d done something wrong.”
Denise looked away.
Mark touched my arm, not to stop me, just a light pressure that reminded me the boys were upstairs and might hear.
