Just the computer and a microphone.”

“We can make a plan,” Owen replied.

I caught my son’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

He was smiling.

There was no secret transaction to uncover, no envelope of cash, no frightening phone call.

Just a conversation about a project we could tackle together.

Later that night I walked past his bedroom.

The sunburst guitar rested in its familiar stand, its polished wood catching the glow of the desk lamp.