While Cleaning the Car, My Five-Year-Old Son Suddenly Asked, “Why Don’t We Just Drive Daddy’s Secret Car?” (2 of 4)

Robert got a ride to work with one of his coworkers, which meant I had a rare window: an empty driveway and an opportunity to finally face the mess. Tom, ever the enthusiastic sidekick, came out with his tiny sponge and superhero cape. We were scrubbing cup holders and peeling melted crayons off the seatbelt when Tom suddenly sat down with a dramatic sigh.

He wiped his forehead like a tired mechanic. “Mom,” he said, catching his breath, “why don’t we just use Daddy’s secret car?”

I froze mid-wipe. “What secret car?”

He shrugged like it was obvious. “The one in the parking garage. The shiny blue one. He says it’s just for his ‘other job.’”

Other job?

I laughed at first, assuming Tom was mixing up one of his action-figure storylines with real life. “Daddy only has one job, remember? At the construction site.”

Tom shook his head. “Nope. He has two. The other one’s at night. That’s what he told the lady with the clipboard.”

Clipboard?

I felt my stomach knot. I didn’t say anything else. Just smiled, handed him another sponge, and texted my sister to come watch Tom for a couple hours.

I followed the breadcrumbs. Drove to the coffee shop where Tom said the parking garage was. Fifth floor, back corner. And sure enough—there it was. A sleek blue sedan, polished and clean, with construction boots in the trunk and… a name badge on the passenger seat.

It said: Robert B. | Security Liaison, Sinclair Casino.