She buckled Robby into the back seat of her old, beaten-up Honda. A wayward child, he was not to be trusted riding shotgun. The two drove for some time, highway markers rushing by. Robby rolled down the window and tossed one of his shoes. Clapped his hands, mad with glee. She wasn’t going to stop. Not this time. Finally, they arrived at their destination. Walked to the rear of the store hand-in-hand, dodging inquisitive glances. Robby shrieked and moaned at the sight of so many toys. She told him to wait there, that she’d be right back.