Chapter 12
TWELVE
Charli
The Gathering: Neighbors collect on porches as the procession passes. Some watch in silence. Some leave their steps and fall in behind.
The Friday morning sun sits low over the water, turning the surface of the Gulf a pale gold. My shoes dangle from one hand as I walk barefoot through the cool sand. The tide slides in and out in a slow rhythm that usually calms my nerves.
Not today.
Mom walks beside me with her gray hair pulled into a loose ponytail. Ahead of us, Benjy moves back and forth between the surf and the dry sand, his plastic bucket swinging from one hand.
I normally treasure these morning walks on the beach before school.
“Look at this one, Mama!”
He runs back toward me and holds up a broken sand dollar like it might be treasure.
“That’s a good one, baby. Put it in your bucket.”
He drops it in and takes off again, stopping to dig a hole near the water before abandoning it two seconds later. I keep track of where he is without thinking about it. My attention stays on him even while my mind keeps circling last night.
“You’re quiet this morning.” Mom glances over at me. “Everything okay at the clinic?”
“The clinic’s fine.”
Benjy crouches near the waterline, studying a tiny hole in the sand with complete focus. His dark hair falls over his forehead. Those green eyes narrow while he tries to figure out whatever has his attention.
My stomach tightens.
“I saw Reeves last night.”
Mom stops walking.
Her face changes immediately, surprise giving way to concern.
“Reeves Stone?”
“We met up in New Orleans after my conference. At The Columns.”
She studies me for a beat, reading the parts I have not said yet.
“Well,” she says slowly, “I guess he finally decided he wants to be part of his son’s life.”
I shake my head.
“He didn’t know about Benjy.”
Mom frowns. “What do you mean he didn’t know?”
“I mean he got the letter, but he never opened it.” The words still sound unreal when I say them out loud. “He said he put it away before he left for Navy training and forgot about it.”
Her mouth parts slightly. She looks out toward Benjy, who is now chasing a gull down the beach, laughing when it hops out of reach.
“Oh, Charli.”
“Yeah.”
She looks back at me. “That’s a lot.”
“I know.”
“How did he react?”
“I told him last night, so I don’t even think it has fully hit him yet.” I watch Benjy scoop wet sand into his bucket. “He asked questions about Benjy, but it was very brief and surface.”
Mom is quiet for a second.
“So, what now?”
“He wants to meet him.”
“And what did you say?”
“That I need time to think about it.”
Benjy runs past us again, grinning, then drops to his knees near the edge of the water. The tightness between my shoulders has been there since last night and still has not let up.
“I don’t know what to do,” I say. “Benjy’s whole life is here with me and y'all. Same house. Same routine. Same people. Now, all of a sudden, this man who has never been around wants to walk into it.”
We start walking again, slower this time. Mom keeps her eyes on Benjy.
“He said he just wants to meet him, right?”
I know exactly what she means, and I know it's not that simple.
“For now,” I say. “He said Benjy doesn't have to know who he is.”
Mom nods once.
“Well, that part is probably smart.”
I look over at her.
“He’s leaving again in a week,” I say.
A seagull flies overhead, cawing as he does. The sound of seagulls usually eases me. Today it doesn’t.
Mom stares out over Benjy for a second before she looks back at me.
“Well,” she says gently, “that does ease the expectation a little.”
“How?”
“If he’s leaving that soon, then whatever happens doesn’t have to turn into some big, permanent thing overnight.”
I shake my head. “I don't know, Mom.”
She takes a deep breath, but doesn't respond.
“What if Benjy meets him and gets attached? What if he attaches to him, and then Reeves disappears for months or even years?”
Mom doesn’t answer right away. She keeps her eyes on Benjy, who is crouched near the water digging with intense concentration.
“You’re thinking about how it felt when he left you,” she says quietly.
The words land because they’re true.
“I just…” I exhale slowly. “I know what it’s like to care about someone who can’t stay. I don't want to bring that kind of uncertainty into Benjy’s life if I can help it.”
Mom nods slowly.
“I understand that,” she says. “But this isn’t exactly the same situation.”
I look over at her.
“He didn’t know about Benjy,” she continues. “That matters, Charli. If he’d known and walked away anyway, I’d be standing right here telling you to slam the door in his face.”
Benjy suddenly runs back toward us.
“Mama, look!” He drops a piece of blue sea glass into my hand like it’s the most valuable thing in the world.
“Oh, that's really beautiful, Ben. I love it."
He grins and takes off again before I can say anything else.
Mom waits until he’s out of earshot.
“Did he push?”
“No.”
“Did he demand anything?”
“No.”
I stare down at the piece of sea glass in my palm.
“That actually sounds like he’s trying to do this the right way.”
I let out a quiet breath.
“You really think so?”
“I do,” she says. “Meeting him once doesn’t mean you’re handing over your life. It just means you’re letting the boy’s father see him. I think that is more than reasonable, honey.”
She gestures toward Benjy, who is now kneeling in the sand.
“You get to decide how it happens,” she adds. “Where. When. How long.”
I watch Benjy for a long moment.
“I’m just trying to protect him.”
“I know you are.”
She squeezes my arm.
“But protecting him doesn’t always mean keeping people out. Sometimes it means making sure you’re the one setting the terms.”
Benjy suddenly sprints toward us again.
“Mama! Gigi! I found a dinosaur tooth!”
He skids to a stop in front of us, holding out a triangular shell.
“See? T-Rex.”
"That's amazing, buddy." I lean down to inspect his treasure. "It does look like a tooth."
His eyes narrow with concentration as he turns the shell over. Those eyes. So green they almost glow in the morning light.
"I'm going to bring it for show and tell," Benjy decides, tucking it into his bucket. "Nobody else will have a real dinosaur tooth."
He races off again, already spotting his next adventure near the water.
“Those eyes,” she says softly. “They’re Reeves’s.”
I don’t answer.
For five years those eyes have looked back at me every morning across the kitchen table.
“What are you building now?” I call.
“A trap!” he shouts without looking up. “For pirates!”
Mom laughs quietly.
I fold my arms across my chest.
“He deserves to know his father,” she says finally. "One day he will start asking questions, and it's important that he knows you didn't try to keep him from his father. Trust me on that."
The words settle heavily in the space between us.
“And Reeves deserves to know him, too.”
Benjy waves at us from the waterline, pointing proudly. I check the time on my watch.
“Benjy,” I yell out to him. “Buddy, we have to head back soon. School.”
I sink into my chair after my last appointment, the familiar squeak as it tilts back bringing a small sense of relief. Three patient charts wait in the plastic tray, each needing notes from last week's sessions.
I focus on documentation, letting the clinical language pull my attention away from the beach conversation still sitting at the edge of my thoughts.
My phone buzzes. I turn it over to see a text from Mom.
Benjy and I are making cookies. He says chocolate chips are mandatory. Don’t worry about rushing home.
A smile tugs at my lips. She knows exactly what I need right now.
I switch to my computer and click through emails. Appointment requests. Supply orders. A message from the pediatric conference committee.
Then I see it. Dr. Henderson’s name in bold. My shoulders tense as I open it.
Dear Ms. Parsons,
While I was disappointed to hear you are not interested in partnering with MidSouth Pediatric Partners, I wanted to express our continued admiration for your practice and methods.
The door remains open should you reconsider in the future.
We pride ourselves on flexibility and would always be willing to find a way to come together that works for both parties.
Warm regards, Dr. James Henderson
The language is polite, but the message is the same.
I close the email without replying.
My finger traces the edge of my desk. Every inch of this space is something I chose. Something I built.
Reeves wanting to meet Benjy pushes back in.
I glance at the framed photo beside my computer. Benjy at five, chocolate frosting on his chin, eyes crinkled at the corners.
Reeves’ eyes.
I sit with that for a second, then turn back to my notes and keep working.
The macaroni boils on the stove while Benjy sits at the kitchen table, crayons scattered across paper as he recreates his beach adventure.
“And then I dug it super deep, Mom.” He doesn’t look up as he picks a blue crayon. “So when the pirates come at night, they won’t see it.”
I stir the pot and watch the pasta swirl in the bubbling water. “Smart thinking. Pirates never look down.”
“That’s exactly what I told Gigi.” His crayon moves in quick strokes. “The trap has sharp sticks at the bottom.”
When I set his plate in front of him, he looks up.
“Can we go back tomorrow?” he asks. “To see if we caught any pirates?”
“Tomorrow’s an early day. Maybe after school.”
His face brightens. “I bet we catch at least three.”
We eat at the small kitchen table while he explains the trap in careful detail, his legs swinging beneath his chair. I watch his hands move while he talks, the way he leans forward when something matters to him.
He gives himself over to things completely. There’s no hesitation in it, no calculation. I don’t know how it would change him to care about someone who won't stay.
Our home, this spot at the table with him after a long day, is warm and easy. It's the kind of easy that took years to build and could shift faster than I’m ready for.
After dinner, he helps clear the table without being asked. Bath time follows, then pajamas, then teeth.
By the time we reach his room, he’s already half yawning.
“Mom,” he says as I pull the space-themed blanket up under his chin, “why do you look tired?”
My hand pauses on the blanket. “Do I?”
He nods seriously. “Your eyes are doing the squinty thing.”
I smooth his hair back from his forehead, buying myself a second. He notices more than I want him to.
“Just a long day, buddy.” I push a single stubborn strand back. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
“You should sleep more,” he says with complete authority. “Like me.”
I laugh quietly and kiss his forehead. “That’s excellent advice.”
Two chapters into his book, his eyelids start to droop. A few minutes later, his breathing deepens and steadies.
I linger in the doorway, watching the rise and fall of his breathing, trying to imagine what it would look like if someone else became part of this room. Of us.
Reeves’ voice drifts back through my memory.
I just want to meet him. He doesn’t have to know who I am yet.
Mom’s words follow, quieter but harder to ignore.
He deserves to know his father.
In the quiet living room, I pick up my phone. I stare at Reeves's name on the screen, mixed in with the other names of people who belong in my life. Seeing him listed there is jarring.
My thumb hovers over the screen. Once I say yes, there’s no pretending this doesn’t change anything.