But there had been embarrassment underneath.
I had told her a small birthday was still a birthday.
Now Caleb was staring at the dress.
“Is Sophie having a party?”
“A little one.”
“Can she have a princess dress?”
“Caleb…”
“Please?”
I crouched beside him.
“It’s sweet that you want to get her something. But forty-two dollars is a lot of money.”
He thought about that.
“How much do I have?”
“At home?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe eight or nine dollars.”
His brows pulled together.
Then he looked through the window again.
I should have recognized that look.
It was the same look he got when building a Lego set without instructions.
The look that meant he had stopped seeing a problem and started seeing a mission.
“Okay,” he said.
That was all.
Just okay.
Then he walked away.
I assumed the conversation was over.
It wasn’t.
PART 3 — WHAT MY SON DIDN’T TELL ME
Over the next three weeks, Caleb became strangely interested in money.
He asked if he could rake Mrs. Ramirez’s leaves.
He helped our elderly neighbor Mr. Foster drag recycling bins to the curb.
He collected sticks from another neighbor’s yard after a storm.
He reorganized my pantry for two dollars, although his idea of organization involved putting cereal beside canned beans because both came in “tall containers.”
I thought he was saving for a toy.
Then he started refusing little things.
At the gas station:
“Want a juice?”
“No, thanks.”
At the grocery store:
“You can pick one candy.”
“I’m okay.”
When his grandmother, Linda, offered him five dollars to buy something at the school book fair, he said, “Can I save it instead?”
I was impressed.
I was also suspicious.
“What are you saving for?”
“Something.”
“What something?”
“A surprise.”
I smiled and let it go.
That turned out to be a mistake.
Caleb’s elementary school still allowed younger students to pay cash for lunch.
Each morning, I gave him four dollars.
Each afternoon, I asked the usual mother questions.
“How was school?”
“Good.”
“What did you have for lunch?”
“Food.”
That should have been another clue.
“What kind of food?”
“Lunch food.”
Again, seven-year-old logic.
I assumed he was being difficult.
What I didn’t know was that for nearly three weeks, Caleb had been saving most of his lunch money.
Some days he ate an apple left over from the school breakfast cart.
