Chapter 20
TWENTY
Charli
The Swell: As the procession passes a place the deceased loved, the music grows louder without anyone deciding it should.
My eyes drift toward the oak tree where Benjy likes to spend most of his time these days.
One of the ladder rungs shifts slightly when you climb it.
I’ve noticed it myself when I go up to check on him, but it’s one of those things that slips to the bottom of the to-do list because it’s not really a problem.
Yet.
Reeves spotted it immediately.
Not just the loose rung. The way it could give under the wrong weight. The exact place a hand might miss.
I think about the deli, how fast he moved when that ladder went. I hadn’t even registered the danger before he was already there.
It’s not a one-off. It’s how he moves through the world now.
I pick up the rubber balls scattered across the yard and drop them into the plastic bin beside the deck. A few toy trucks follow, then the plastic shovel Benjy left in the grass.
“Mommy. Look at my coloring,” Benjy says as he scurries down the tree. He runs over to me, proudly showing off his work.
He’s only here for a few days.
That’s what I keep telling myself. Reeves has orders. He deploys next week. Whatever connection he’s building with Benjy, whatever easy rhythm we fell into this afternoon, it’s temporary.
The metal latch on the gate rattles.
I look over to see Reeves walking into the yard with two plastic bags and what looks like a new drill. The bags hang from his hands like they weigh nothing, plastic stretched tight against his fingers.
“Found everything I think we might need,” he calls out. “If a bracket and some screws don’t do the job, I’ll go back for some wood.”
“That was fast.”
Benjy spots him and bolts across the yard.
“You’re back! Come see my pirate ship!” he shouts.
He crashes into Reeves at full speed, wrapping his arms around Reeves’s knees without slowing down. The impact rocks Reeves back a step, but he steadies himself easily, one hand coming down to Benjy’s shoulder.
“Whoa there, pirate captain,” Reeves says. “Let me put this stuff down first.”
Benjy releases him but grabs his free hand instead, tugging toward the oak tree.
“Come on. Let’s fix the wobbly part. Can I help you? I love fixing things.”
I stay beside the porch railing, towel still in my hands, watching as Benjy drags him across the yard without giving him time to answer half the questions he’s firing at him.
The plastic hardware bag swings from Reeves’s grip as he adjusts it, his other hand already steadying Benjy when he stumbles.
They reach the base of the oak tree, and Benjy immediately starts climbing. Reeves follows more slowly, testing each rung before he shifts his weight. His shirt pulls tight across his back when he reaches, the movement controlled, deliberate.
Halfway up the ladder, he winces and readjusts his grip.
It’s subtle, the kind of movement most people wouldn’t notice. But I’ve been watching him favor that shoulder since yesterday. The way he reaches across his body instead of lifting his arm straight up. The careful way he lowers himself when he climbs.
I walk over to the treehouse and stand under it, close enough to see the way he braces himself without thinking about it.
“This board here,” Reeves says, pointing to the loose plank once they reach the platform. “It rocks when you step on it.”
“Yeah. That one,” Benjy says. “What do you think happened?”
“Screws work loose over time. That might be all it is. But if the board’s warped, we will have to replace it. Let’s see if this will fix it first.”
“How will we fix it?”
Reeves pulls a new electric screwdriver from the bag and tears open the box. The low whir cuts through Benjy’s chatter as he tests it once, then lines it up without hesitation. When he lifts it, his right shoulder tightens for a second before he smooths the movement out again.
My first instinct is to tell him to stop before he makes it worse.
But he doesn’t hesitate. He adjusts his grip and keeps going like it doesn’t matter.
Benjy chats about everything under the sun while Reeves shows him what he’s doing and lets him “help” hold things while he secures them.
“See that?” he says, tapping the board with his knuckles. “That’s just going to keep getting looser and looser if we don’t put at least another screw in it.”
Benjy, on his belly, leans his head down the ladder, studying it seriously. “Is it broken?”
“No, not yet. Just loose.”
Reeves drives two longer screws through the rung and into the tree trunk, tightening them until the board sits flush and solid. The drill stays steady in his hand the entire time, controlled even when his shoulder pulls tight again.
“Alright,” he says, stepping back down to the ground and climbing up again to test both spots. The ladder holds steady beneath his weight. The platform board doesn’t move.
“All set.” Reeves presses his foot down on the repaired plank one more time. “No more wobbling.”
Benjy bounces slightly on the ladder to test it himself.
“Careful,” Reeves says automatically, one hand coming up to steady the rung. “You’re still high up, so you always need to hold on with two hands and move slowly.”
Benjy grins. “I know, Silly Goose!”
While they’re still working, I slip back toward the house. The washer finished while Reeves was at the hardware store, so I tossed the clothes into the dryer before he came back outside. They should be close to done now.
Inside, the smell of fresh clothes drying fills the house. The dryer hums softly in the laundry room.
I pull the door open and reach in. The shirt and shorts are warm but dry enough to wear. I shake them out, fold them over the towel, and head back outside.
By the time I return to the yard, Reeves is climbing down from the ladder while Benjy narrates the structural improvements at top volume.
"They're done," I say, holding the clothes out. "I'm honestly impressed with how well they turned out."
Reeves glances down at them, surprised. "You got the paint out?"
"Mostly. There are some spots, but overall, they came pretty clean."
He reaches for the shirt, and our fingers brush as he takes it from me. The contact lasts only a second, but a small warmth spreads up my wrist and lands with a thud between my legs. I squeeze my thighs together to stop it or to hold onto it. I'm not sure which one.
I make myself look at him instead of away, which is a mistake. My father's shirt is approximately two sizes too small on him, pulling tight across his broad shoulders in a way it never once did on my dad.
He has absolutely no idea what he's doing to me.
Reeves looks down at the clothes, running his thumb over the fabric. “You’re good.”
"Mom skills come in handy."
The word mom catches in my head.
Reeves’s mother died when he was twelve. It was always a tender subject for him. He never let anyone else see it, ever the stoic. But sometimes he would tell me stories about her.
My eyes drift to Benjy.
He’s still at that age where the world feels safe because his mother is standing nearby. The thought of that safety disappearing makes me panicky.
Reeves had to learn how to live with that kind of loss before he was even grown.
And for reasons I never fully understood, he trusted me enough to let me see it.
"Can we go back to check our traps, Mommy? Reeves and I have been talking about it. Pretty please?"
"I think we are beached out, bud. Plus, I know Reeves said he has to get back to New Orleans."
“Actually, my truck’s still down by the beach access. I need to walk back there anyway. We can check the traps before I head out.”
Benjy jumps up and down.
"Can we walk? Please?"
"Sure. Let's walk."
Benjy takes off toward the gate before I finish the sentence, already wearing his trap-builder hat. I don't bother locking the front door because we never do.
The afternoon air smells of salt and warm sand. Gulls call somewhere overhead, and the sound of waves reaches us even from this distance. It's the kind of perfect coastal day that makes tourists pay ridiculous amounts for vacation rentals.
"Thanks for taking care of those repairs on his treehouse. I really appreciate it," I say to Reeves as we turn onto the street that leads toward the beach access.
Reeves glances ahead at Benjy, who has stopped to examine a large rock in the grass beside the road.
"I'm glad I'm able to help. I'm sorry I haven't been there for you two for all these years."
“I’m sorry you didn’t know. I should have done more to make sure you did. I assumed you’d read the note.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. Reeves goes quiet beside me, and heat creeps up my neck.
“Charli, stop,” he says, his voice low, cutting me off without sharpness. “You don’t owe me an apology.”
He exhales through his nose, then looks at me.
“I’m the one who didn’t read the letter. That’s on me.”
I hold his gaze for a second longer than I mean to. There’s no edge in it, no defensiveness. His gaze is steady that makes it harder to look away.
Benjy calls out from ahead of us, saving us both.
“Look! Someone dropped a whole bunch of shells here!”
He crouches beside a scattered pile of broken shells, picking through them with the concentration of a scientist sorting specimens. We catch up to him, and Reeves drops down beside him, one knee in the sand as he reaches for a larger piece.
“These came from pretty far out,” Reeves says, turning it in his hand. “See how smooth the edges are? That only happens in deep water.”
“How do you know that?”
“Learned it in the Navy. Part of our training covered coastal reconnaissance.”
Benjy’s eyes go wide.
“You did spy stuff on beaches?”
Reeves huffs out a quiet breath. “More like training, but yeah, something like that.”
Benjy grins and goes back to digging through the shells.
Reeves pushes to his feet and brushes sand off his hands, his movements careful for a second before they even out. I catch it anyway.
Benjy pockets his favorite shell and takes off again, chasing a chipmunk further down the path. The sandy trail curves beneath a canopy of live oaks and scrub pines, their branches filtering the late afternoon light. Every few steps, the trees thin and flashes of blue water break through.
“This path is nice,” Reeves says, glancing ahead at Benjy. “You don’t have to deal with traffic, and there’s shade most of the way. You’ve built a good life here for him.”
“It’s a good spot,” I say. “I’m grateful for it.”
He nods once, like he understands exactly what that means.
We fall into step beside each other, close enough that our arms brush once before I shift slightly to the side. The space between us doesn’t quite settle after that.
Benjy ranges ahead of us, never quite out of sight, stopping to examine footprints or chase a sand crab that darts across the path. Reeves doesn’t say anything, but I see the way his attention tracks him anyway, quiet and constant.
I notice it, and I notice everything else too. The way he adjusts his stride to match mine without looking down. The way his hand flexes once at his side, like he is holding back the instinct to reach for me, like he used to.
The silence stretches, but it doesn’t feel empty.
It's full of things we are not saying.
We round the last curve, and the beach access parking lot comes into view. Walking like this, with Benjy just ahead of us and the rhythm of our steps falling into place without effort, feels easy in a way that catches me off guard.
Not imagined. Not hypothetical.
Real. Like it could have always been this simple if we had been different people back then.
Reeves slows as we approach the parking area, his gaze sweeping across the rows of cars and trucks lined up between the painted spaces. He stops walking altogether, his posture tightening as he scans the lot again.
“Anything wrong?”
“My truck.” He turns in a slow circle, checking the surrounding rows. “It’s not here.”
I glance toward the empty stretch of pavement, then back at him.
“Are you sure this is the right spot?”
“Positive. I always park in the shade when I can.”
He moves between the cars, checking plates and peering through windows like it might appear if he looks hard enough. The ease from a minute ago disappears, replaced by something sharper.
That’s when I see the sign.
“Shiiiiiiiit,” I say under my breath, then clamp a hand over my mouth, glancing toward Benjy.
I point toward the entrance of the access road where a metal post holds a bright yellow warning sign.
We walk over together.
EMERGENCY VEHICLES ONLY TOW AWAY ZONE – STRICTLY ENFORCED. VIOLATORS WILL BE TOWED AT THE OWNER’S EXPENSE