Spring Break

Both children knew we were going skiing over Spring Break. On that Saturday, we packed the car, then took inventory. Ski gloves, check, goggles, check, ski pants, check, ski jacket, what? Secret Service looked up, all wide eyed innocence.

"Where is your ski jacket?" I asked.
He looked at me blankly.
"The jacket I bought you at the end of last winter?"
Still blank.
"The jacket you begged for because it wasn't bulky."
Blank.
"The jacket that cost more than $100?"

Science Girl, Sport and I fanned out and looked in every closet. When none of us had success, we reconvened in the kitchen. I considered increasing the questioning techniques, where was a flashlight to shine in Secret's sleepy eyes? (I found a flashlight but of course it had no batteries in it.)

Secret Service, calm as a well-trained spy in enemy territory, said, "It might be at school." The rest of us turned to look at him. "In my locker." Then, he added, "I'm not sure." Even the dog peered at him as if to say,"What?"

Science Girl ushered everyone into the car, saying we'd stop at the school before driving to the mountains. On the way over, Secret assured us the school would be locked up tight on the weekend. As we drove, I used the time to issue warnings and ultimatums to Secret, lecturing about taking care of possessions and the value of a dollar. Secret maintained that this was all my fault as I had insisted he wear a coat when the weather was 10 degrees. He patiently explained that if not for my insistence, he wouldn't have even taken it to school and it wouldn't be there now.

When we arrived as the school, it seemed obvious that the building was open and there was some sort of event being hosted. When out in the world, Secret is a strict follower of rules so he promptly announced he would not enter the building as he wasn't part of the event. I climbed out of the car to accompany him. Murmering threats of revoking numerous privileges, I persuaded him to walk into the school. We entered the school and in the main hallway, there was an iron gate to the left of the main staircase. Secret turned to me, "We can't get through that way," he said, referring to the gate, "it's all locked up." I looked over. The gate was not fastened. I asked, "Is your locker that way?" Secret said, "no." I tried not to display my impatience. Secret reluctantly indicated his locker was upstairs. He walked gingerly, as if an alarm would sound if he wasn't cautious.

I stayed on the second floor as he went to the third. A few minutes later, Secret re-appeared, the red ski coat scrunched up in his arms. He handed it to me and we raced to the car. Getting in to the front seat, I turned to the family. "What smells?" I asked.

"It's the coat," Secret said, matter of factly, from the backseat. Tentatively, I sniffed the jacket. It was vile. I could not imagine what could have caused an odor like that. I issued inappropriate expletives and demanded an explanation.

He shrugged, clearly unconcerned, offered a brief explanation of a shared locker and something that his locker mate had placed in their shared space. I held the coat out the window and then we stopped the car so I could put it in the trunk.

As I re-fastened my seat belt, Secret looked at me. "What's wrong? We got the coat, everything worked out," he said. Another happy ending.