Chapter 19 #2
That's when I see it. There's a small wooden treehouse tucked behind the tree, partially hidden by branches.
The structure has a peaked roof, a wooden platform, and rungs made out of pieces of wood up the tree to make a ladder.
In the late afternoon light, it's clearly visible, but I completely missed it when I was here before.
"I would have killed for a treehouse like that as a kid. My dad didn’t do treehouses.”
"My dad built it last summer. Benjy spends half his free time up there."
I walk across the yard, drawn by curiosity. The wood steps are surprisingly sturdy, not moving with my two-hundred and fifty pounds on them.
That is, until I get about two-thirds of the way up and one of the rungs shifts slightly.
When I reach the top, the platform is maybe four feet by six feet, and the walls are covered in his artwork.
My frame doesn't even come close to fitting, but I look around in wonder.
I end up standing on one of the steps with one hand braced against the wooden frame, leaning inside to see what Benjy's doing.
He's lying flat on his stomach, coloring a pirate ship in a book. His tongue sticks out slightly as he concentrates on staying inside the lines.
"Nice hideout."
He looks up, not surprised to see me.
"It's my pirate ship. See?"
He holds up the book, showing me a picture of a ship with black sails. His version is colored in neat strokes of brown and black crayon.
"Very cool. You come up here a lot?"
"Every day after school. Sometimes in the morning if we have enough time before school, we don't go on a walk on the beach."
Sounds like a pretty idyllic childhood.
As he talks, I notice a board along the edge of the platform that doesn't sit flush with the others. It shifts slightly when I lean against the frame, and the ladder rocks under my weight.
That's not good.
"Hey, Benjy. See this board here?"
I point to the loose plank.
"Does anyone know about this?"
He glances over without much interest.
"PopPop said he'd fix it. But he probably forgot." He has no interest in the board or if and when it's getting fixed. He goes right back to his coloring.
The casual way he says it makes my stomach tighten. A five-year-old climbing up here every day on a ladder that could give way without warning.
Hell no.
I climb down faster than I went up, the one loose slat shifting even more than when I climbed up. Charli watches from across the yard as I walk back toward her.
"We need to talk about that treehouse."
She steps closer, following my gaze toward the structure.
"What about it?"
I gesture toward the loose board I just discovered.
"There's a board up there that probably needs to be replaced. Or, at the very least, it needs to be secured. He could get caught on it, or it could come up. Either way, since he's spending so much time up there, I could fix it while we wait for my clothes."
Charli moves closer to examine what I'm talking about, stepping under the oak tree's shade. She cranes her neck to look up at the platform.
"I don't see anything from down here."
"That board on the left side. And now that I'm thinking about it, one of the ladder rungs shifts when you put weight on it."
She takes another step forward, still looking up, and nearly walks straight into me. I reach out automatically and catch her wrist to steady her before she bumps into me.
The contact stops us both.
Her skin is warm under my fingers. Soft. Real in a way that cuts through all the careful distance we've been maintaining since I showed up in her life again.
Let go.
But I don't. Not immediately.
She looks down at my hand on her wrist, then up at my face. Something passes between us that has nothing to do with treehouse repairs or parenting decisions. Something that feels dangerous.
This is why I need to leave.
I release her and step back, putting space between us.
"The repair should be simple. Just needs a couple of screws, maybe a metal bracket to reinforce that board. If you have a hardware store, I can run and get the materials."
"You don't have to worry about it. I'll ask my dad to take a look when he has time."
"I don't mind.”
She pauses, considering, but doesn't protest. I'm not sure if she wants me to do things for them. For her. But I'm here. And I guess there's a paternal element in me that wants to do this for my son.
“I’ll run to the hardware store,” I say. “Pick up what we need. Won’t take more than twenty minutes.”
“Reeves, you really don’t need to go out of your way.”
I start to reach for my keys before remembering they aren’t with me. They’re sitting in the center console of my truck. Which is still parked at the beach.
I scrub a hand over the back of my neck. “That’s right. I left my keys in the truck.”
“At the beach?” Charli asks.
“Yeah. I didn't want them to get sandy. I have an app on my phone to lock and unlock the truck, so they're fine. I'll just walk over there and get my truck and head to the store.”
Charli considers that for a moment, then gestures toward the street beyond the yard. “The hardware store is right up the road. You could walk there and back in ten minutes. We can grab your truck later if you want.”
I glance toward the road, doing the mental math. “You think it’s okay sitting there like that?”
She smiles, the corner of her mouth tipping up in quiet amusement. “Reeves, it’s the middle of the afternoon in Bay St. Louis. Nobody’s stealing your truck.”
I nod slowly. “Fair enough.”
She points toward the corner. “Go up this street and turn left at the main road. The store’s about half a block down.”
“Got it.”
I grab my wallet and phone from the table by the back door and head toward the gate.
“You sure about this?” Charli asks.
I look back at her.
“It’s just a hardware store run.”
But as I push the gate open and step out onto the sidewalk, I know that isn’t the whole truth.
Every time I decide to stay a little longer, to fix something around this place or show up for Benjy the way he expects me to, another thread ties me to a life that was never supposed to include me.