Chapter 30 Charli
THIRTY
Charli
The Tambourine: Enters in the second line — bright and percussive, a sound that belongs entirely to celebration and not one note to mourning.
I read Reeves's text for the fourth time.
The house is quiet except for the hum of the air conditioner. Benjy at the aquarium has given me space to reset my mind. I'm not sure how much resetting I've done, and now this text from Reeves is the only thing I can think of.
The sunlight shifts through the blinds, casting long bars across the floor. I pace through them, phone clutched in my hand.
The sixth time reading it, I catch how he makes it about Benjy's interests. Smart. Who could argue with that? A boy who loves the military and trucks would obviously love to go to a tank show.
Whatever the hell a tank show is.
It's all so reasonable and simple. So thoughtful. And that's exactly what makes my stomach twist.
Tomorrow is Monday. Usually, Sundays are our quiet days. It should have been chocolate chip pancakes and then lazing around the house or the beach. Instead, it's been nonstop.
Benjy needs to get ready for school tomorrow. And I have my first patient at nine. We just have too much going on to pile another activity on this afternoon. Even without the Reeves complication, it's just too much.
I stop pacing and stare at the phone again.
I press my thumb to the home button, closing the message. I don't need to respond right away. A no now will be the same no in fifteen minutes.
I set the phone face-down on the coffee table. I need to sort laundry and review patient files.
I walk to the laundry room and pull out the warm clothes. My eyes catch on a tiny fleck of light blue paint. It's from the paint catastrophe yesterday, and I can't help but wonder how that got in here. I rinsed them out outside.
I run my finger over it, and it flecks off and falls to the floor. I shake my head at the memory of yesterday.
The sharp sound of a car door slamming outside snaps my attention to the window.
I move to the door just as Benjy's voice carries from outside.
The screen door creaks as I open it. Paolo's mom waves from their minivan, stopped at the curb. Benjy hops down from the back seat.
"Thanks for taking him, Lucinda!" I call across the lawn.
Paolo leans out the window. "Bye, Benjy! Remember about the submarines!"
Benjy doesn't even turn around, just waves backward as he races up our walkway, words already tumbling out before he reaches me.
"Mom! The jellyfish tank was all purple lights, and they look like ghosts, but not scary ghosts. I touched a starfish, and it felt like sandpaper but wet!"
He barrels past me into the house, grabbing my hand with fingers still sticky from whatever snack they had.
"Come sit down! I have to tell you everything!"
I let him pull me to the couch, his energy washing away the heaviness I've been carrying all morning. He climbs up, bouncing on his knees beside me.
"The sea turtles were eating lettuce. Real lettuce! And there was this shark that had spots on it, and Paolo said it was a leopard shark, but I think leopards have bigger spots."
I smile. "Did you see the seahorses?"
"Yes! They hold onto things with their tails. They don't even swim good, but they still don't get lost."
His arms wave as he speaks, mapping the shape and size of each creature. This is our normal. This is what I built for us.
“Well. They don’t swim well.”
He doesn’t even acknowledge me.
"And guess what? They have a real submarine you can go in! It's not under the water anymore, but it has all the buttons and stuff still inside."
He stops suddenly, his eyes bright with a new thought.
"Can I tell Reeves about the submarine? I bet he's been in a real one that goes underwater for real."
My body stills. The air is thinner now. Benjy's question sucks up all the oxygen, more significant than he knows.
"I think..." My voice catches. "I'm sure he'd find that interesting."
Benjy nods, already building on this new idea.
"When can we see him again? Can he come tomorrow? He could come to dinner, and I could show him my drawing of the shark, and maybe he could tell me about submarines and if they're scary when they go deep in the water."
His words rush forward, unstoppable, like water finding a new path.
Each suggestion builds on the last, his voice climbing higher with excitement. His hands gesture wider. This isn't just idle curiosity anymore. He is actively thinking about Reeves when he does things that have nothing to do with him.
My phone sits face-down on the table, Reeves's unanswered message about the tank show burning a hole through the glass top.
"Honey, I don't know if—"
"Does he know how to fish? PopPop could teach us both at the same time!" Benjy interrupts, completely unaware of my hesitation.
Uncomfortably, I come to realize that I’m the wall between them. I’m the door that opens or closes. The yes or the no.
For five years, I've been the only one making these decisions. Now every answer I give shapes what Benjy believes about his father, even if he's not aware that that’s who Reeves is to him. Every "not today" or "we'll see" is me actively preventing something that could be good for him.
But is it good? Routine matters. Consistency matters. People who stay matter.
"He's leaving soon," I say, reminding myself as much as telling him, but the words sound hollow even in my own head. "I don't think he'll be able to come back before he has to go."
Benjy stops bouncing, his expression suddenly serious. "Is Reeves mad at us? Is that why he's not coming back?"
The question hits me in the sternum. I look at my son, with his bright green eyes and the same thoughtful head tilt as Reeves.
This isn't just about protecting my boundaries anymore. This is about what I'm choosing to allow or deny based on my own fear of getting hurt. A tank show isn't dangerous, especially if it is the last time they will see each other before Reeves leaves.
I exhale slowly. "Actually, Benjy. Now that you mention it, Reeves sent me a message earlier." I keep my voice light, casual.
"Oh, he did? Maybe he can come tomorrow, then?
"There's a show with tanks and military trucks in Gulfport this afternoon. He thought you might like to go. Would you like that?”
I try to make it sound small, just a simple invitation, not the seismic shift it represents.
Benjy freezes for half a second, then erupts. "REAL TANKS? That we can SEE?" He jumps off the couch, spinning in a circle. "Can we go RIGHT NOW?"
His face glows with such immediate, uncomplicated joy that my last defenses crumble.
I reach for my phone as my heart races.
I unlock it and open Reeves's text. Benjy races around the coffee table, arms outstretched like airplane wings.
"Are we really going? To see real tanks?" His voice cracks with excitement.
I type a response, keeping it simple.
Benjy would like that. When and where exactly?
"Mom! Mom! Will they let me touch them? Do you think they'll let me sit in one?" Benjy stumbles over his own feet but catches himself on the arm of the couch, bouncing back up without missing a beat.
My phone vibrates almost immediately with a response from Reeves.
It starts in about an hour and goes on until 6.
I'll leave now and pick you both up.
I frown and type back quickly. The last thing we need is to give him a reason to come back here afterwards. I need my own car.
We can meet you there. You don't want to come out of your way to come to Bay St. Louis. Can you send the address?
Benjy climbs onto the back of the couch, his whole body vibrating with energy. "I need to tell PopPop! He won't believe it! Real tanks!"
The phone buzzes again.
I've got nothing else scheduled. It's no trouble to drive over. Plus, parking's a nightmare at these things.
Three dots.
Plus, showing up in a Hummer will only make it that much better for Benjy.
This is exactly what I was afraid of. Small decisions leading to bigger ones. A tank show turning into shared transportation, shared time in confined spaces, and him ending up right back here.
Fuck me.
I start typing "I'd prefer—" but stop when I look up. Benjy stands in front of me, his green eyes wide, hands clasped under his chin.
"Is Reeves going to take us in his big truck? Can we put the windows down on the highway?"
The hope in his face makes me feel like the absolute worst mom on the planet.
I delete my half-written message and let him know we'll be ready.
"Yep. We just confirmed. He will be here in an hour, so we need to make sure we get a snack and are ready. Bring your bag from the aquarium in here so I can refresh your water.
"YES!" Benjy punches the air and runs toward his room. "I need to find my camo shirt! The one Gigi got me for Christmas!"
I set my phone down and follow him.
"And my binoculars! For seeing faraway tanks," he yells from his room.
After finishing the laundry and putting my laptop away because I will not be doing any patient notes until tonight, if I'm lucky, we are getting close to when Reeves should be here.
I put on a light sun dress and flip flops, putting my hair in a loose bun. I don't know why I'm fussing so much about it.
"Benjy! Do you have your shoes on?" I call down the hallway.
"Almost!" His voice echoes from his bedroom, followed by the thump of what sounds like a book falling.
I grab the sunscreen from the bathroom cabinet just in case. SPF 50. I've never been to a tank show, so I have no idea if we will be inside or out, but I want to be prepared.
"Did you find your hat?" I arrange the snacks in the cooler. Apple slices. Cheese sticks. Granola bars.
"It's under my bed!" Benjy yells back.
I zip the small backpack containing wipes, band-aids, and extra sunscreen. Everything we might need. Everything I can control.
The deep rumble of an engine cuts through the midafternoon quiet.
"HE'S HERE!" Benjy flies past me, a blur of camo shirt and untied shoelaces.
"Benjy, wait! Your shoes aren't—" But he's already yanked open the screen door.
I exhale slowly. Count to three. Take the backpack and cooler.
The front door frame captures a picture I'm not prepared for. Reeves stands at the bottom of our porch steps in uniform.
The sight of him knocks the air from my lungs.
Gone is the casual stubble and faded t-shirt.
His jaw is clean-shaven, hair freshly cut in that precise military style.
He's wearing a light camo button-down that stretches across his shoulders, matching cargo pants, and boots that look like they've seen actual combat zones.
His sunglasses hang from his collar, revealing those green eyes that match my son's perfectly.
My heart thuds against my ribs. This isn't the Reeves who slept on my couch or flipped burgers on my patio. This is Officer Stone.
Dear God. I had no idea I was a uniform girl.
There's no turning back now. I pull the front door closed behind me and walk down the steps to catch the end of their conversation.
"Look at my shirt!" Benjy spins in front of Reeves, showing off his camo pattern. "It matches yours! Gigi got it for me for Christmas and I saved it for special days."
Reeves is crouched down to Benjy's level without hesitation, inspecting the shirt with serious consideration.
"That's proper woodland camo. Good choice for reconnaissance." He points to a spot on the sleeve. "See how the patterns break up your outline? That's exactly the right ones to wear."
Benjy beams, soaking up every word.
"Your shoes are untied, buddy." Reeves gestures to the loose laces.
"I was hurrying."
"Safety first on missions." Reeves kneels and ties them with quick, efficient movements. "Double knot so they don't come loose when we're exploring."
I stand frozen in front of them, cooler in one hand, backpack in the other. Watching them, the way Benjy leans slightly toward Reeves and how Reeves's entire focus narrows to this small boy, nearly undoes me.
I'm cooked.