Chapter 31 Reeves
THIRTY-ONE
Reeves
The Street: The procession has filled it from curb to curb. What began as a handful has become something the whole neighborhood moves inside of.
I steady Benjy with one hand as he climbs halfway into the driver’s seat. His sneakers squeak against the leather door frame when he leans over the wheel like he’s about to take the truck for a spin.
“Easy,” I tell him, gripping the back of his shirt and lifting him the rest of the way up. “You don’t touch anything unless I say so. This thing’ll move if you do.”
His eyes go wide. “It will?”
I almost smile. “How about let’s not find out.”
He nods like I just handed him classified information, hands hovering an inch above the wheel, soaking it all in. I give him a second, then tap the side of the truck. “All right. Back seat. We’ve got some tanks to check out.”
He hops through the opening between the two front seats, already talking again, already asking another question I answer without thinking. He asks if he can press the buttons in the back and I tell him he can.
I'm standing outside of the driver's side with my forearms resting on the open door frame.
Charli opens the passenger door and sets her small cooler on the floorboard.
For a second, I don’t say anything because I'm speechless.
The dress gets me first. It's light and soft, moving with the light breeze. The hem skims her legs in a way that makes me have to adjust my cargo pants before we are both embarassed.
Her hair’s pulled up loosely, a few strands falling around her face and the back of her neck exposed in a way that pulls my focus before I can stop it.
I drag my eyes back up.
“You ready?” I ask with the most natural, easygoing voice I can muster.
She looks me up and down with an amused look. “I've never seen you in that.”
I glance down at it like I forgot what I’m wearing. “Yeah, I guess not. I thought he would get a kick out of it,” I nod my head toward the back seat.
“You wear it well.”
I believe that's a compliment, but I'm not sure what it means when one wears his fatigues well. There’s a beat where neither of us moves.
Benjy fills it for us, tugging on my arm from behind. “Are we going or what?”
"I need to grab your booster. Hold on."
"No need. We're all set," I say as I open the back driverside door and pat the new booster to indicate to Benjy to sit down.
I'm glad I thought to ask Ms. Landry to get one for me on my way back to New Orleans because she had it waiting for me in the kitchen when I got done with my meeting with Ridge.
Benjy peers in at the black and gray booster seat sitting behind the driver seat.
"That's for me?"
"Yep. My friend helped me pick it out." I adjust the straps, making sure they'll fit him properly. "What do you think?"
"Cool!" Benjy climbs into it and I help buckle him, my hands steady despite the storm in my head.
"Wow, Reeves. Thank you for thinking of that."
I close his door and climb into the driver seat. The space between the driver's seat and the passenger seat is suddenly much smaller than I remember. Her floral scent hits me and I secretly take a deeper breath to get more of it inside me.
She looks at me differently right now. I smile to myself, sitting on top of the world taking our son to a tank show together.
"The uniform suits you," she says as I back out. She already said that, so she must be really impressed.
I don't deflect with a joke or brush it off. I let her words sit between us.
"Thanks."
"Everyone buckled?"
"Yes!" Benjy shouts from the back. "Is it true tanks can crush cars? How fast do they go? Can they swim like boats?"
I check the rearview mirror, catching his excited expression. His questions aren't random noise. He wants real answers.
"They don't swim exactly," I explain, pulling onto the main road. "Some have snorkels that let them cross rivers if they're not too deep. But they're heavy, around seventy tons, so they don't float."
"Seventy TONS?" His eyes go wide. "That's bigger than PopPop's boat!"
"Way bigger," I confirm. "They're slower than most vehicles, though. They can go about forty-five miles per hour tops. But they can definitely crush cars."
I glance at Charli, who watches me with surprise.
Halfway through the drive, Benjy asks another question about tank armor. Charli turns to explain something to him, and when she faces forward again, my hand brushes her arm. The contact is light, barely there, but intentional in a way I can't deny to myself.
She goes still for a beat, her breath catching. Then she eases back into her seat, putting just enough space between us to break contact without making it obvious. I drop my hand back to the wheel, but the awareness of her remains.
The truck phone rings suddenly, the sound cutting through the tension. I glance at the screen, don’t recognize the number, and grab my cell instead of letting it go through the speakers.
They don’t want to hear whoever this is.
“Stone,” I answer, my tone shifting without thinking.
“Petty Officer Stone, this is Seaman Alvarez from Naval Medical Center Portsmouth. I’m calling about your prescription transfer.”
I keep my eyes on the road. “Go ahead.”
“We’ve sent your refill to a civilian pharmacy near your current location. It's a Walgreens on Bourbon Street. It should be ready for pickup this evening. I can text you the address.”
“Copy that.”
There’s a pause. “Do you anticipate needing an adjustment based on your last evaluation?”
“Negative. What we're doing works until I get back next week.”
When I get back next week. Saying that out loud in this car, with everyone's ears on me, makes my gut twist.
“Understood. You’re still scheduled to follow up when you return?”
“Hooyah.”
“All right. We’ll see you then.”
“Thanks.”
I tap the button to end the call. The truck falls quiet.
I don’t look at her, but I know she's watching me. The shift is obvious, the way she’s putting pieces together from half a conversation she wasn’t meant to hear.
I don’t offer anything.
She doesn’t ask.
"Do tanks have bathrooms?" His voice cuts through the tension from the back seat.
I catch his eyes in the rearview, grateful for the distraction. "No bathrooms. The crews use special bags if they really need to go."
"Like when we camp?" Benjy leans forward against his straps.
"Sort of, but less comfortable."
"Gross." He wrinkles his nose.
"That's why tank drivers try not to drink too much water before missions."
"I would bring extra bags," Benjy declares with absolute certainty.
Charli laughs, the sound breaking through whatever wall the phone call built. "I like your planning, Ben. Definitely bring extra bags."
I take the exit toward the fairgrounds, joining a line of cars turning into the parking area. Flags snap in the wind above the entrance. A massive M1A1 Abrams tank sits on display near the gate, its barrel angled toward the sky.
"Look!" Benjy points frantically, bouncing in his seat. "A REAL TANK!"
His excitement is contagious, even as my shoulder throbs, a physical reminder of the life waiting for me outside this bubble. I park the Hummer in a spot near the entrance and turn off the engine.
"Ready to see some serious hardware?" I ask, meeting Benjy's wide-eyed gaze in the mirror.
"Yes!"
The fairground buzzes with noise and movement. Families stream toward the entrance. Speakers announce a demonstration starting in fifteen minutes. The world expands around us, pulling us forward.
I get out of the truck and help Benjy down, his body practically vibrating with excitement as his feet hit the dirt parking lot. The fairground entrance looms ahead, crowded with families and veterans moving in waves toward the displays.
"Stay close, buddy." I rest my hand on Benjy's shoulder as we approach the ticket booth. My fingers curl protectively around the curve where his neck meets his shoulder.
Charli stands beside me as I pay for our tickets. When we step through the gates, the full scope of the show hits us at once. There must be ten tanks lined up going back as far as the eye can see, several helicopters with open cockpits, and uniformed personnel answering questions.
The air smells like diesel fuel, grass, and food trucks.
Benjy tugs forward. "Can we see that one first?" He points to a Bradley Fighting Vehicle where kids are climbing on the treads.
"Lead the way, Captain." I keep my hand light on his shoulder, not directing but present.
The crowd thickens as we approach, bodies pressing in from all sides. Without thinking, my other hand finds the small of Charli's back, fingers splayed just enough to guide her through the mass of people. I don't pull her closer, but I want to make it clear she is mine.
She doesn't pull away.
Benjy breaks free when we reach the Bradley, scrambling up the metal steps to peer inside the turret.
"Reeves! Look at me!" He waves frantically from his perch.
"I see you." I give him my full attention, not scanning the crowd or checking my watch. I could watch my son discover in wonder all day.
His face splits into a grin so wide it makes my own cheeks hurt.
A soldier in fatigues explains how the vehicle works, and Benjy asks three questions in rapid succession. The man looks at me with his eyebrows raised.
"He's always like this," I explain. "Curious about everything."
Charli laughs beside me, the sound light and genuine. "Last week it was how washing machines know when to stop spinning."
Her laugh catches me sideways. I've always loved her unguarded laugh.
Benjy moves on to the next display, and we follow closely, making sure not to lose sight of him. The crowd shifts again, and Charli steps closer. My arm falls naturally across her shoulders. Not pulling her in. Just resting there.
We watch Benjy press his face against the glass of a tank simulator, his profile sharp against the light.
"We made him," I say quietly in her ear. I inhale her shampoo before straightening.
Benjy turns and waves us over, and as we walk toward him, my mind begins to drift into uncharted territory. What if this wasn't just today? What if this became weekends, then weeks?
What would it be like to build something permanent instead of always preparing to leave?
We spend two hours at the tank show before Benjy's energy finally starts to flag. Not from boredom because he's clearly into all of this, but from sensory overload. He's absorbed everything he could possibly see, touch, and hear.
"And then the gunner said they can hit a target two miles away. Did you know that?" Benjy skips alongside us as we head back to the parking lot, still vibrating with excitement.
"Pretty impressive, right?" I ruffle his hair, watching him bounce on the balls of his feet.
The sun hangs low over the water as we reach the truck, painting everything in gold. My stomach growls, and I realize I haven't eaten since before meeting Ridge at eleven-thirty.
"Anyone hungry?" I ask without thinking it through. "We could grab dinner before heading back."
Charli checks her watch, hesitation crossing her face. "It's getting late. Benjy has school tomorrow."
"School?" I blink, confused. "In summer?"
"Year-round schedule," she explains. "Three weeks on, one week off, throughout the year. There's no long summer break, but more frequent, shorter breaks."
I absorb this new information, filing it away. A whole rhythm to their lives that I know nothing about.
"I didn't realize that was even a thing," I admit.
Under the table, my boot brushes against her bare foot, where it’s slipped loose from her flip-flop. I start to shift back automatically, but I stop when she doesn’t move.
I keep my attention on Benjy, nodding along while he explains how tank treads work, but my focus drifts. I’m aware of that small point of contact, of the heat of her skin against mine, of the fact that she hasn’t pulled away.
So I don’t either.
I press my foot back just slightly, enough to make it intentional without drawing attention to it, and a second later, I feel her respond. It’s subtle, almost nothing, but it’s there. It’s not an accident anymore.
“Mom, can I get ice cream?” Benjy asks, pointing toward the dessert menu.
“I guess we can make an exception on a school night,” she says, her voice steady, like everything above the table is exactly as it should be.
But underneath, it isn’t.
I stay where I am, letting that quiet, hidden connection sit between us, knowing we’re both choosing not to break it.