Chapter 14 Charli
FOURTEEN
Charli
Grief in Motion: In New Orleans, grief has always been a public thing. The streets have always been where it goes to move.
Fuck.
For a moment, I wish the tide would surge up and wash the entire conversation away the same way it will erase that pirate trap by morning. This afternoon was supposed to be simple. Reeves meets him, we talk for a while, and then everyone goes home.
I keep my face neutral, but inside, my brain is already trying to figure out how to shut this down without embarrassing my son or making Reeves feel like he just crossed a line.
He stands there with sand still clinging to his knees, the plastic shovel hanging from one hand while he waits for Reeves to answer. In Benjy’s mind, this is a simple thing. They built a trap together, so obviously they will come back tomorrow and check it.
Reeves doesn’t answer right away. He's looking at me, waiting to see how I untangle this. Knowing him, he wants an exit ramp, anyway.
I look to the water for a moment, watching a small wave fold over itself near the trap they built together. The edges of their fort are already softening as the tide creeps in.
Which is exactly how this afternoon should end.
It was always only supposed to be temporary and contained to this one meeting.
Benjy shifts his weight impatiently.
“We have to check to see if the pirates fell in,” he explains, as if Reeves simply needs the situation clarified.
Reeves lets out a quiet breath that might be a laugh.
“I might need you to be the boots on the ground for that.”
Benjy blinks at him.
“What?”
“Recon works best when someone local keeps watch,” Reeves says, glancing down at the trap. “You’ll have a better chance of spotting pirate activity if you’re here every day.”
Benjy considers this seriously, his eyes moving back toward the hole they dug together.
“That makes sense,” he says slowly. “Because pirates might scout during the day.”
“Exactly.”
I glance at Reeves, realizing what he just did. He turned the whole thing into a mission for Benjy instead of a promise from him.
Benjy nods with growing determination. “I can check it tomorrow after school.”
“That sounds like solid recon.”
I brush the sand from my hands and stand.
“Alright, pirate commander,” I say. “We should head back before it gets dark.”
Benjy looks up.
“Why?”
“Because PopPop is making a special dinner tonight and we don’t want to be late.”
Benjy’s face lights up immediately.
“Yes! I forgot! Crawdaddies!”
He jumps to his feet, suddenly far more interested in dinner than pirate surveillance.
“PopPop is bringing them back from his friend’s dock,” he says excitedly, turning toward Reeves. “We’re having a big boil.”
Reeves nods politely. “That sounds like a fun dinner for you.”
Benjy tilts his head, studying him for a second. Then the idea clicks into place. I already know what’s coming before the words leave his mouth.
“You should come, too,” Benjy says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
He starts collecting his bucket and shovel and jogs down to the waterline to rinse off the sand.
Reeves straightens beside me and wipes his hands on the back of his jeans. When he steps away from the trap, the movement is deliberate, like he’s quietly putting the distance back where it belongs.
He doesn’t answer the invitation. Benjy isn’t standing here waiting for it. Maybe we can let the moment drift away.
“Thank you for this,” he says.
I glance up at him.
“For letting me meet him.”
There it is, the clean ending.
This is exactly what I told myself I wanted when Reeves showed up asking to see the son he didn’t know existed. A meeting. A polite afternoon. Closure.
But standing here now, with the tide sliding up the beach and the trap Benjy insisted on building still sitting between us, it's suddenly unfinished in a way I don't know how to fix.
Reeves has been patient with him. Curious. He listened to every ridiculous pirate theory like it mattered.
And Benjy noticed. Kids always notice.
“Of course,” I say.
The words are inadequate for everything sitting underneath them.
Reeves nods once, as that resonates. Without saying anything, we both understand this was the right way to do things.
Benjy jogs back toward us, his bucket swinging wildly in one hand.
“Ready, Mom.”
He stops beside me and looks up at Reeves like the next step is already obvious.
“Let’s go, Reeves.”
I've got to nip this in the bud. I take a deep breath and grab his hand, trying to build up the courage for the right words before this crashes and burns.
We start walking toward the path that leads back up to the road. The sand is cooler now, packed down where the tide reached earlier. Our footsteps fall into an uneven line as we move across the beach.
Reeves walks a few steps behind us. It's not unfriendly, just separate. He's a temporary visitor.
That is what he should be.
Halfway up the path, Benjy slows suddenly and turns around.
“Hey, Reeves.”
My shoulders tense. What's he going to say now? Invite him to move in?
“Yes?”
Benjy tilts his head thoughtfully.
“How do you check if pirate traps actually work? We forgot to do that.”
Reeves slows beside us.
“Now you wait and observe. Time will tell.”
“Yeah,” Benjy says, brightening. “Like recon.”
The word still sounds a little awkward coming out of his mouth, but he’s clearly proud of remembering it.
Reeves glances at me before answering.
“Recon is the most important part of the mission.”
Benjy nods with serious approval.
“I’m thinking we might need to come back tonight with flashlights and check it out,” Benjy says, clearly pleased with the plan forming in his head. Then he grins. “But first we should go eat crawdaddies.”
Reeves clears his throat and pushes his hands further into his pockets.
The invitation Benjy tossed out a few minutes ago is still hanging between us, neither of us knowing quite how to handle this. I think we both hoped it might drift away if we gave it enough time.
I built every inch of what I have from scratch. He was born into more money than I'll see in my lifetime and spent six years running from it. I'm not sure which of us made the harder choice.
“It’s getting late, Ben,” I say gently. “Reeves lives all the way in New Orleans. He probably needs to get back.”
I glance at Reeves as I say it, offering him the cleanest exit I can.
"Right?"
He hesitates, rubbing his hand along his jaw. The gesture is familiar enough that I recognize it instantly. Reeves always did that when he was thinking through something he hadn’t planned on.
“I mean,” he says slowly, “traffic heading back toward the city is probably rough right now anyway. But I definitely don't want to impose.”
He lets the thought hang there, unfinished.
"You should come, then." What else can I say right now, with him hedging and my son looking at me with that look?
“I could stick around a little while.”
It isn’t quite an answer. It isn’t a refusal either.
He’s watching me, waiting to see whether I close the door or open it wider.
I should definitely close it.
Instead of a quick meeting, we’re standing halfway up a sandy path while my son casually invites the man who broke my heart to dinner with my parents.
“My parents will be thrilled to see you,” I say before I can talk myself out of it.
It’s the polite thing to say. Whether or not they’ll actually be thrilled remains to be seen. The last time my parents talked about Reeves, they were under the impression he had disappeared without a word after finding out I was pregnant with his baby.
Twenty-four hours ago, I thought the same thing.
Reeves studies me for a moment, like he’s making sure I really mean it.
“I may not stay for dinner,” he says carefully. “But if you’re sure, it would be nice to say hello to them.”
Then he glances down at Benjy.
“And continue discussing our recon strategy, of course.”
He rests a hand on Benjy’s shoulder. A shudder runs through me.
My first instinct is to knock his hand away. To tell him not to touch my son.
He is his son.
Benjy, meanwhile, is vibrating with excitement.
I should have shut this down earlier. When Benjy first suggested it. When Reeves hesitated. When the invitation was still small enough to pretend it was a child's meaningless chatter.
Instead, I let it grow.
“YES!” Benjy throws both arms in the air like we just got a new puppy. “Wait until you taste PopPop’s crawdads. He makes them spicy but not too spicy.”
We reach the parking area where my Subaru sits next to Reeves’s black Hummer. The size difference makes my car look like a toy.
“I’ll follow you?”
Reeves pulls his keys from his pocket, and I notice his hands are steady. Whatever internal conflict he had about accepting this invitation, he’s either worked through it or pushed it somewhere out of sight.
Or buried it.
“It’s the blue cottage on Magnolia Lane,” I tell him. “Right next to the seafoam one where we were yesterday.”
“I remember your parents’ house.”
Things are getting a little too comfortable too fast. All of a sudden, six years ago feels like yesterday, and the intensity of being around him again hits me like a tidal wave.
We have so much history between us.
And now we have a son.
I don’t know if I can do this. What in the hell was I thinking?
Benjy climbs into his car seat without being asked, still chattering about the pirate trap and whether we’ll see evidence of nocturnal reconnaissance.
After strapping him in, I get behind the wheel and glance into the rearview mirror. Reeves sits in his truck behind us, waiting for me to pull out first.
His hands are on the wheel, forearms flexing, and the sight hits low in my stomach before I can stop it.
This is all fucking too much.
I need to protect Benjy. He can’t feel the way I do right now. I have to shield him from the uncertainty, the fear, the possibility of heartbreak waiting around the corner.
As soon as that thought forms, I realize it isn't Benjy I need to protect. He wasn’t afraid out there or uncertain.
That was me.
I’m the one sitting here waiting for the ground to shift under my feet again, waiting for the moment when Reeves leaves, and everything collapses.
Benjy just wants to talk about recon and pirates.
I start the engine and pull onto Harbor Street, watching the black Hummer fall in behind us as we head toward Magnolia Lane.
The scent of boiled seafood and spices drifts through the screen door, mixing with the sound of Dad's laugh from inside.
This is really happening.
Benjy bounds ahead, screen door slamming behind him.
"PopPop! Gigi! We brought someone!"
So much for subtle introductions.
Reeves pauses at the bottom of the steps, hands in his pockets. The easy confidence from the beach has shifted into a more careful hesitation.
"You sure this is okay?"
"It's fine. They love unexpected guests."
Especially those who fathered their grandchild and disappeared for over half a decade.
Mom appears in the doorway, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Her silver hair is pulled back in its usual bun, and she’s already smiling before she looks past Benjy.
Then she sees Reeves. Her smile freezes for half a second.
“Well,” she says slowly. “Look who it is. It's been too long, Reeves Stone.”
“Evening, Mrs. Parsons,” Reeves says.
He's polite, careful, just like he's always been. Even through all of our ups and downs, my parents always loved Reeves. And they would never be anything but polite to him. Especially with Benjy here.
Mom studies him for another moment, then steps back and pulls the screen door open.
“You might as well come in. The crawdads are ready.”
Dad emerges from the kitchen carrying a platter piled high with bright red crawdads. He sets it down on the long wooden table that dominates their dining room before looking up.
His eyes land on Reeves.
“Reeves,” he says.
“Sir.”
Dad gestures toward the table.
“Hope you’re hungry. I made enough for an army.”
Dad gestures toward the table covered with newspaper, bottles of hot sauce, and bowls of corn and potatoes. The smell makes my stomach growl despite my nerves.
"Oh, I'm not staying. I just wanted to come say hello since I was in the area. It smells delicious."
"Nonsense. You sit yourself down."
Before he can protest, Benjy breaks in. He's bursting at the seams to tell them what he and Reeves did at the beach.
"Reeves helped me build the best pirate trap ever." Benjy climbs into his usual chair, bouncing with excitement. "And tomorrow we're doing recon to see if pirates came during the night."
There it is again. We. Tomorrow.
"Pirates, huh?" Dad sits in his chair and starts cracking crawdad shells with practiced efficiency. "What kind of bait did you use?"
"Shells and shiny things. But Reeves said we needed better fortification, so we made walls."
I watch Reeves take the chair across from Benjy, looking slightly overwhelmed by the spread of food and the casual energy filling the room.
"I've never actually eaten crawdads before."
Of course he hasn't. The Stone family probably serves lobster at their dinner parties.
"Well, you're in for a treat." Mom bends down beside Dad and immediately starts peeling crawdads for Benjy. "Ben's got the seasoning just right."
"Here, watch." Benjy picks up a crawdad and demonstrates the twisting motion needed to separate the tail from the head. "You twist like this, then pinch the tail."
He's teaching Reeves how the rest of us live. My five-year-old is teaching this Navy SEAL how to eat crawdads.
Reeves follows Benjy's instructions carefully, brow furrowed in concentration. When he successfully extracts a piece of tail meat, Benjy cheers.
"Perfect! Now try the corn. PopPop puts the same seasoning on everything."
The conversation flows around the table while everyone eats. Dad asks Reeves polite questions about New Orleans. Mom comments on the weather and whether the summer tourist season will be busy. Normal dinner table talk that doesn’t press too hard.
But it’s Benjy who dominates the conversation, jumping between topics with five-year-old logic. Pirates lead to boats, which lead to questions about whether Reeves has ever been on a submarine.
I catch Mom’s eye across the table. She gives me a small smile that says she’s paying attention, too.
Dad wipes his hands on a napkin and leans back in his chair.
“So,” he says calmly, looking straight at Reeves, “how long are you planning on being in Bay St. Louis?”
The room goes quiet.
Benjy doesn’t notice. He’s still focused on his crawdads.
But Reeves does.
And so do I.