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sweet nose I’d kissed a zillion times that had now bloomed into youthful manhood. At the cat-green eyes that seemed to capture more life and energy from his surroundings than any other eyes I’d ever known. At his strong chin that so reminded me of the man who’d been his father. “Do you have an inner woman aching to break out?”
    He rolled his eyes. “Just because Stormy—”
    “You’ve told me this before. Just because Stormy had an inner woman doesn‘t mean her son does, too . But pastels?”
    “I’m working on a new version of Las Vegas après Holocaust , Mom. I ran out of orange and black.”
    Did I mention his artwork generally gives me nightmares?
    “I’m going to Target. Will they have pastels?”
    French grunt.
    “Come with?”
    More eye rolling.
    “I can’t be expected to pick the right kind of art supplies. You said so yourself. Besides, I might need a big strong man like you to help little ol’ me load my purchases in the Animal.”
    The Animal is the name of my Saturn ever since Stephen got a learner’s permit and on his first outing drove into the McDonald’s drive-thru window. Literally into.
    Insurance paid to fix McDonald’s but not the Saturn. Fortunately, it still runs. Unfortunately, with the combination of dents, rust, and green paint, it now looks like a tarantula on PCP.
    “I’ll come. Just don’t talk to me.”
    “That’s hard, Stephen. What if there’s some danger? I’ll need to warn you. Even if it’s only to say, ‘Watch out for the Bounty avalanche.”‘
    French grunt.
    I shrugged, grabbed my keys, and we headed out the door.
    Our trip to Target began as expected.
    I like going out with my son. I really do. Honest. Even when he walks ten paces in front of me so he can pretend we aren’t together.
    Before long I realized I’d left my list at home and now I wandered aimlessly wondering what the hell it was I needed besides Stephen’s pastels.
    After Stephen chose his pastels, I grabbed a packet of laminating sticky paper to see if I could do some repair work on my dream house photo. As we walked amicably down the aisles in pursuit of whatever it was I’d forgotten, I decided it was a good time to find out about his report card. Since he spent the night before with his fa—other mother, he’d managed to avoid me so far.
    “Did you get your grades on Friday?”
    French grunt.
    “So, how’d you do?”
    “Got an A in French.”
    “Oh, that’s good.” Maybe he’d turned a new leaf and his grades had skyrocketed?
    “Mais oui .“
    “Any other As?” I couldn’t keep the hopeful note out of my voice.
    “Art.”
    He stopped to gaze at a computer game display, indicating our discussion was over. I, however, am never one to take a broad hint, especially not when in pursuit of my son’s grades. “How do the rest look?”
    “Two Cs and two Ds.”
    My stomach churned. Definitely no hope for a scholarship reprieve. Unless … “Water polo?”
    Stephen rolled his eyes, then walked back up the aisle.
    I rushed to catch up with him. “Darts?”
    No response.
    Just then a cute pajama set caught my eye. Immediately behind it was a colorful bra display. I needed another bra. Hey, there’s a chance it could have been on my list.
    As a decoy, I quickly grabbed the cute pj’s, which I had no intention of buying. Stephen was more likely to cooperate while I shopped for pj’s than if he thought I was looking at bras. “Stay right here. I need to check this out and I’ll be right back.”
    This time his grunt didn’t sound so French. It was more guttural, but he remained in place, which was all I wanted.
    I darted to the bras. They were made of cotton, didn’t have any froufrou lace, and I particularly liked the bright colors. Most especially, I loved the price.
    It didn’t take long to become absorbed in choosing which color I liked best. I didn’t look up until I heard the sound of Stephen’s voice.
    He was in conversation with a man. I couldn’t see his