Chapter 36 Charli
THIRTY-SIX
Charli
The Children Again: The ones who started at the edges of the procession are now in the middle of it, learning the second line by moving through it.
I adjust my position on the carpet, scooting closer to where Mason lies on his back. His limbs sprawl loosely against the soft mat, tiny muscles lacking the tension that should help him lift his head or reach for the colorful rings dangling above him.
"We're going to try for that red ring today, buddy."
I slide my hands under his shoulders, supporting his trunk as I help him roll to his side. His head wobbles, and I steady him with one palm against his back.
"There we go. See the ring?"
Mason's eyes track toward the toy, but his arm remains limp against the mat. I guide his elbow, then his wrist, moving his hand toward the target.
"Reach, reach, reach."
His fingers brush the ring, and it sways. A sound escapes him, something between a coo and a grunt.
"Good job, Mason. You touched it."
Behind me, his mother shifts on the couch. I hear the creak of leather and the soft intake of breath that means she's watching every detail, cataloging every small movement for signs of progress or failure.
My phone buzzes against my hip. Then again.
I ignore it and reset Mason's position.
"Let's try again."
Sweat collects at the base of my neck where my hair meets the collar of my scrubs. It's warm in here. Mason's coordination falters when he gets too hot or too tired, so I try not to push him too much.
His arm drifts toward the ring without my guidance this time. His fingers spread, then close around nothing as his hand falls short.
"Almost there. One more time."
I support his trunk again, feeling the soft give of muscles that should be stronger by now. But progress happens in millimeters with hypotonia. Every small gain counts.
Mason's hand moves forward. His fingers wrap around the ring.
"Perfect. You did it."
I keep my voice calm and steady, but I'm ecstatic over the tiny milestone. These moments make everything else worth it.
Mason holds the ring for three seconds before his grip fails, and it bounces back.
I turn toward his mother.
"Did you see how his shoulder stayed stable that time? That's what we want to practice daily. Support here, gentle pressure here, and let him do the reaching."
She nods, leaning forward to watch as I demonstrate the hand positioning.
"Three times, twice a day. Don't push if he gets fussy. Stop and try again later."
My phone buzzes again. I finish packing my supplies into the therapy bag, moving without hurry despite the growing heat in the room and the persistent vibration against my leg.
"I'll see you next week, Mason."
I step outside into the humid afternoon. The sun hits my face, and I pull my phone from my pocket as the controlled quiet of the house drops away behind me.
Three missed calls from Westlake Elementary flash on my screen.
My stomach drops.
Something happened to Benjy.
I press the callback button as I fumble for my keys. The phone rings once before someone picks up.
"Westlake Elementary School, how may I help you?"
"Hi. This is Charli Parsons. My son is in kindergarten, and I saw a few missed calls."
"Hi, Ms. Parsons. Benjy's fine. We had an AC failure this morning. The building's too warm for the children, so we're requesting early pickup today for all students."
My shoulders release tension I didn't realize I was holding. My knees loosen as I sink into the seat.
"How warm is too warm?"
"Eighty-seven degrees in most classrooms. We've opened windows and brought in fans, but it's really not ideal for the kids. We're making sure everyone has plenty of water, so he's safe, just probably a little uncomfortable."
"When do you need me there?"
"Whenever you can manage. We have staff staying until the normal release time, but we're letting everyone know in case you want to get your child early. Also, we've decided to cancel school tomorrow and Wednesday while they repair the system."
My hand finds my forehead. Two unexpected days off school means two days of scrambling for childcare. Mom and Dad normally help, but they're in Mobile until Thursday night.
"I have one more patient today, so I should be there in about an hour."
"That works perfectly. Benjy's in the library with the other kids. They're having story time."
"Thank you for keeping them comfortable."
I end the call and immediately pull up my calendar app. The Hendricks appointment is at twelve-forty-five. I've got a few minutes to spare, and they're close to the school, thankfully.
I was planning to do office work until school let out, but I can do that tonight after I put him to bed.
But tomorrow. And Wednesday.
I'll either need to reschedule those appointments or bring Benjy with me. Neither option is ideal, but I've managed worse.
I open my calendar app and scroll through tomorrow's schedule. Seven patients between the two days. The numbers glare at me from the screen.
Seven families are counting on me. Seven kids who need their sessions.
My fingers tap against the steering wheel as I arrange it all in my head.
I select each of the appointments over the next two days and click to draft an email.
Hi, this is Charli Parsons. Due to an unexpected issue at Benjy's school, I need to reschedule our appointment this week. We can move to a time on Friday, possibly this weekend, or cancel and resume our normal schedule next week. I apologize for the short notice and any inconvenience.
I drop the phone in my lap and close my eyes for ten seconds. The air conditioning hums against the heat pressing through the windows.
I check the clock. It's twelve-forty. Shit. I've got to go. I put the car in reverse and throw it into drive, pressing the gas. Thankfully, the traffic is light, and I get there just a minute after our scheduled appointment.
I grab my therapy bag from the trunk and head up the walkway to their house. This session runs for forty-five minutes instead of the usual hour, so that's a blessing.
Katie keeps getting distracted by a cat outside the window, and Mrs. Hendricks has questions about summer camp accommodations. I answer each one carefully, demonstrating the adaptive techniques Katie will need.
By the time I pack up my supplies, it's after one-thirty.
I drive straight from the Hendricks house to Westlake, switching from therapist mode into mother mode. Work voice to mom voice. Professional posture to protective instincts.
I pull into the school parking lot and find it packed despite the early dismissal. Cars idle in every available space, parents leaning against their vehicles, talking in small clusters.
I park and hurry toward the building, weaving between other parents heading in the same direction.
Inside, the air is heavy and still. It's almost hotter in here than outside. The large industrial fans positioned in a few areas are at least moving the air.
Parents move in slow streams toward the front office to sign out their kiddos. Voices sound muffled in the thick air. A teacher waves a paper fan near the main office, her cheeks flushed pink.
I follow the signs toward the library, stepping around a maintenance worker who shakes his head at an open electrical panel.
The library doors stand propped open with doorstops. Inside, children sit cross-legged on the carpet while a teacher I don't recognize reads from a picture book. Her voice carries that forced cheerfulness teachers use when everything feels off-routine.
I spot Benjy near the back of the group. His dark hair sticks to his forehead in damp curls. His cheeks are flushed, and his usual alert posture has melted into tired slumping.
He sees me and pushes to his feet without his normal burst of energy. No wave, no grin, just a slow walk in my direction.
"Hey, buddy." I crouch down and brush the sweaty hair back from his forehead. His skin feels warm and clammy. "How was your day?"
"Hot."
I take his backpack from his shoulder and stand, keeping one hand on his back as we move toward the exit.
"Let's get you somewhere cool. We've got to stop by the office for me to sign you out, so stand in front of one of those fans."
Once I finish with the administrative part, the walk to the car is like swimming through mud. Benjy stays close to my side instead of running ahead or stopping to examine interesting cracks in the sidewalk. The heat has drained all his normal curiosity.
At the car, I unlock his door first and help him into his booster seat despite him being perfectly capable of buckling himself. He doesn't protest. He just sits there with his head tilted back against the headrest, eyes half-closed.
I start the engine and immediately direct all the air vents toward the back seat.
"Better?"
He nods without opening his eyes.
The car stays quiet as we pull out of the lot. No chatter about his day, no questions. Just the hum of the air conditioning and the rush of cool air filling the car.
My phone buzzes from the cup holder.
Reeves's name appears on the screen, and I realize I never responded to his text from this morning. We were flirting, but then I walked into an appointment, and I haven't stopped since.
I glance in the rearview mirror to see Benjy picking at something on the side of his shoe.
I pull over into a shaded spot and pick up the phone.
If I took it too far earlier, I’m sorry.
I type back quickly.
Day blew up. Had to pick Benjy up early and cancel my next two days. School’s closed tomorrow and Wednesday.
The response comes within seconds.
That's a lot. Everything okay? Can I help you?
Instead of texting back, I hit his name.
He answers on the first ring. “Hey.”
“Hi. It’s easier to call. I’m in the car.”
“What happened?”
I merge back into traffic and check the rearview mirror. Benjy sits with his head tipped back against the seat, his cheeks still flushed but not as bright as before.
“The AC went out at the school. They shut everything down and called parents for early pickup.”
“Shit.” He exhales. “Do you want me to take him for a few hours? Give you time to work.”
My hands shift on the steering wheel as I slow for the car in front of me. I glance at his name on the screen, then back at the road. It hits me all at once that he never even crossed my mind when I was trying to figure out how to juggle the rest of the week.
“I already rescheduled everyone. I’ve got it handled.”
“Okay.”
There is a short pause before he speaks again.
“Well, if you don’t have a plan for how to fill your days, I hear this Illusions museum in New Orleans is pretty cool. You could both come do that one of the days.”
My foot eases off the gas as I turn onto the next street.
“To New Orleans?”
“Why not? I could show Benjy the bunker. He’d get a kick out of that, too.”
“Reeves…”
“Listen, no pressure. Just throwing it out there. And y’all could stay if you want. There’s plenty of space.”
I turn into my neighborhood, guiding the car along the curve of the road while his words settle in beside everything else already stacked in my head.
Two days ago, I told him we weren’t doing this again. Last night, I pulled him into my bed. This morning, we almost got caught, and now I’m sitting here considering packing a bag and bringing my son to stay with him like this is normal.
Everything lately is happening at warp-speed, and I don't know what to do about it. If I don't think too much, all I want to do is lean in.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
I pull into the driveway but leave the engine running, the air still blowing across my hands while I stare through the windshield at the front of the house.
It would solve the problem. Benjy would be entertained. I wouldn’t be scrambling to keep him occupied while I try to work. And Reeves—God—Reeves would be right there, like he wasn’t gone for six years and didn’t just walk back into our lives four days ago.
“Let me think about it,” I say, my voice steadier than the way my grip tightens on the wheel. “Everything’s moving kind of fast.”
“Of course.”
There’s a beat where neither of us hangs up.
“Charli?”
“Yeah?”
“I think he’d like it.”
I look at Benjy in the mirror. He’s watching me now, waiting.
“I know.”
“Think about it and call me back.”
“I will.”
The line goes quiet. I lower the phone to the console but don’t move right away, the engine still running, the air humming through the vents while the house sits in front of me like it always has.
“Mom?”
I glance back at him.
“Yeah, buddy?”
“Are we going somewhere?”
I reach up and turn the key, cutting the engine, the quiet settling in around us.
“Maybe,” I say, opening my door. “Let’s go inside.”