Chapter 44 Reeves
FORTY-FOUR
Reeves
The Decision: The tradition exists because someone, in the middle of grief, chose to keep walking and let the music change around them.
The cufflinks clink on the hard-polished wood table. I sign my name for what feels like the fiftieth time, my hand moving across the paper.
The closing attorney, a man with salt-and-pepper hair and wire-rimmed glasses, passes another document across the table. I can tell he’s been itching to get into small talk with me, but I don’t give him an inch.
"Stone." He sets down his pen. "As in Stone Intermodal?"
And so he takes it anyway. Goddammit.
"As in I'd like to finish the paperwork."
"Just need your signature on this one too, Mr. Stone," he says, tapping a blue tab.
I scan the paragraph, pen poised. It’s about property taxes, but those are minor details that the accountant will parse. I sign, then slide it back.
"So you were a Navy SEAL?" The attorney leans back in his chair, clearly fishing for conversation to fill the silence. Here it comes. "That must have been quite the experience."
I keep my face neutral. "It was a job."
"I've always been fascinated by special operations. The training alone sounds brutal."
"It is." I don't elaborate. I always get annoyed when complete strangers learn what I do. Or, what I did.
The attorney shuffles more papers, not taking the hint. "What made you decide to retire? If you don't mind my asking."
I meet his eyes directly. "It was time."
I glance down at the document in front of me, then add, “Shoulder injury. And I’ve got a son I’d rather not miss any more who turns six next week.”
The attorney nods, his curiosity seemingly satisfied as he slides the final document toward me. "This is the last one. Once you sign here, the house is officially yours."
I take a deep breath, not because I'm nervous, but because the weight of this moment deserves acknowledgment.
I could have sent a POA. All of my brothers handle acquisitions this way, signing half their deals through attorneys without ever entering a room.
I drove forty-five minutes and sat across from a man who wanted to small-talk about bullshit because this transaction wasn't one I wanted handled at arm's length.
A house. My house. Not a generic condo in a high-rise in a city that I have no connection to, or my father's place. Mine.
"Congratulations, Mr. Stone." The attorney reaches into a drawer and produces a set of keys. He slides them across the polished table surface.
I take the keys, noticing their weight in my palm before pocketing them. There's no fanfare needed, but there is a shift inside about what this means.
I've bought vehicles that cost more than this house. I've signed checks that would make this closing look like a grocery receipt. None of that ever felt like anything.
This is different. This is the first thing I've bought because I wanted to stay somewhere, not because I needed to be ready to leave.
"Is there anything else?" I ask, already standing.
"No, that's everything. The deed will be recorded this afternoon."
Outside, the cooler fall air a nice change to the heat. I walk to my truck and check my watch.
Two hours until I pick up Benjy.
I start the engine and head out of the lot.
I pull into the pick-up line at Westlake Elementary, turning off the engine and scanning the playground where kids are playing. My knee bounces slightly as I wait.
The bell rings and children flood the yard in waves of backpacks and lunchboxes. I spot Benjy immediately, his dark hair and the way he moves, making him stand out. His eyes find me and his face lights up.
I recognize his teacher now, and she sees my Hummer. It sticks out like a sore thumb against the minivans and Suburbans.
"Reeves!" He breaks into a run, dodging between other kids with the agility of someone who knows exactly where his body is in space.
"Mr. Stone," the teacher says through the open passenger window. She opens the back door for him to climb in.
"Benjy had a wonderful day today. He's got a few art pieces from the last few weeks in his folder and a permission slip for the field trip in two weeks. Please make sure you sign it and send it back."
"We're on it. Thanks, Ms. Lin."
I turn around to greet him. I smile and tap him on the knee as he bounces in his seat.
"Hey, buddy." The warmth in my voice surprises even me.
Benjy pulls back, words already tumbling out. "We did science experiments today with water and food coloring, and Ms. Lin said mine was the best because I followed all the steps and didn't rush."
"That's cool. You ready to go?"
"Yeah. Is Mom at work?" He adjusts his backpack, which looks massive against his small frame.
"She is. I've got something to show you before you go home later."
His eyes widen. "A surprise?"
"Something like that." I make sure he's buckled before putting us in drive.
"Is it a helicopter? Or a submarine? Or—" He stops, thinking hard. "Is it a new trap for the pirates?"
"None of those." I start the engine. "But I think you're going to like it."
Benjy radiates with energy as we pull away from the school. "Can I have a hint?"
"It's bigger than a breadbox."
His forehead wrinkles. "What's a breadbox?"
"Never mind." I smile. "Old expression."
"Is it alive?"
"Nope."
"Is it a tank? Like at the show?"
"Unfortunately, no. But I agree that would be an amazing surprise."
He taps his chin, deep in concentration.
Benjy presses his face against the window. "Is it on this street?"
"Very close." I turn onto Iris Lane, slowing down.
"Is Paolo getting a dog? He said his mom might let him."
"Not that either." I pull into the driveway of 1423, a craftsman-style house with a wide front porch. "We're here."
Benjy looks confused, staring at the house. "Whose house is this?"
I turn off the engine and meet his eyes. "It's ours when you are with me."
Benjy presses his face against the window as I park. He sits frozen for a second, processing, then his seatbelt clicks and he's squirming to get out.
"It's ours?" His voice rises with each word.
I nod, watching his eyes grow wider.
"Can we go inside?" He's already tugging at the door handle.
"Let's go." I step out, circling to his side to help him down.
The moment his feet hit the gravel, he takes off toward the house. I follow at a measured pace, fishing the new keys from my pocket.
Benjy waits impatiently on the porch steps, bouncing on his toes. "Is it empty? Does it have furniture? Which room is mine?"
Mine. The concept is so much bigger than a four-letter word.
I fit the key into the lock. The mechanism turns with a satisfying click. "Yes, it's empty for now. I need your help filling it up."
I push the door open, and Benjy darts past me into the open space. His footsteps echo against the hardwood floors. The living room stretches out in front of us, with large windows framing the marsh and river beyond.
"Whoa." Benjy stands in the center, turning in a slow circle. "This is awesome."
I step inside, closing the door behind me.
"You can see the water from inside!" He presses his hands against the glass of the sliding doors. "And there's a dock! Can we go fishing?"
"We can." I move beside him, looking out at the long wooden structure extending into the river.
"Which room is mine?"
I point to the hallway off the main living area. "You get to pick."
Benjy races down the hall, opening doors and peering inside each room.
"I like this one because you can see the dock." He stands in the doorway of the second bedroom, which overlooks both the side yard and the water. "I pick this one."
"Good choice." I lean against the doorframe. "I have a bed coming tomorrow. And some shelves for your books. But you get to pick what color you want to paint the walls and for your comforter and your rug."
"Can we paint it blue? Like the sky blue, not dark blue." He paces the room, already claiming the territory. "And I need a desk for science experiments."
"Sky blue works." I picture the space filled with his things, alive with his energy. "The desk can go under the window."
We move through the rest of the house. I run my hand over the granite countertops in the kitchen before we move to the bathroom that needs updating, and then the primary bedroom with doors opening to a small deck.
"Where's your stuff?" Benjy asks, hands on his hips as he surveys the empty kitchen.
"Don't have much. We'll need to buy things. That's where I'll need your help."
His eyes light up. "Can I help pick stuff?"
"Absolutely. You're going to be here a lot." I rest my hand on his shoulder. "Want to see the backyard?"
I pull the sliding door open, and Benjy races past me, his small sneakers kicking up dirt as he charges into the wild expanse behind the house. The untamed marsh grass sways in the Gulf breeze, stretching toward the wooden dock that juts into the river.
"This is perfect," Benjy declares, stopping at the edge where manicured lawn surrenders to nature. His eyes scan the horizon like a general surveying a battlefield.
I follow him out, the heat settling across my shoulders as I step into the yard. "Perfect for what?"
"For watching pirates." He points toward the water. "They come up the river at night when everyone's sleeping. We need a fort right here."
"Right here?" I crouch beside him, suddenly seeing the land through his eyes. He doesn't see it as anything except as terrain to defend.
"Yes. Because we can see in all directions." Benjy stretches his arms wide, turning slowly. "No one can sneak up on us."
I grab a fallen branch from under a nearby tree and walk to a flat spot where the grass is shorter. "How about here? High ground, good visibility."
Benjy nods vigorously and runs over.
"It needs to be big enough for supplies." He paces off an area with exaggerated steps. "This big."
I drag the stick through the dirt, marking a rough rectangle. "Walls about this high?"
"Higher." He stretches his arm above his head. "So they can't climb in."
"Smart thinking."
We sit cross-legged on the ground, and I listen as Benjy outlines his vision. I add practical suggestions about weather protection and storage.
"We could use those boards," I point to a pile of lumber near the dock, leftover from repairs. "Start with the frame this weekend."
"Really?" His eyes widen. "Like, actually build it?"
"Why not? Every good fort starts with a plan." I pick up a smaller stick and hand it to him. "Show me where the secret entrance goes."
Benjy takes the stick, his face serious with concentration as he draws in the dirt. The sun catches his profile, and a lump rises in my throat.
We stay out there, sketching and reworking it, arguing over windows versus peepholes, whether we need a flag, how high the floor should sit off the ground.
I don't check my phone once. I don't think about deployment or the past or what comes next. I just exist in this moment, watching my son's mind work.
The fort blueprint is complete, dirt outlines marking each section. Benjy studies it with his head tilted exactly the way I do when evaluating terrain.
"The lookout should be taller," he decides, pointing with his stick. "So we can see all the pirates coming."
“Good call.” I pull out my phone to text Charli. I know she said she would be finishing up around now. I snap a quick picture of the dirt sketch and send her a text.
Closed on a place in Bay St. Louis today. I’m at 1423 Iris Lane with Benjy. You can meet here, or I can bring him to you—whatever works best.
I slide the phone back into my pocket and look down at the mess of lines carved into the dirt.
“Should we mark where the supplies go?” I ask, nodding toward what’s turned into a rough outline of an escape tunnel.
“Here.” Benjy points without hesitation. “And we need a secret place for treasure.”
We keep working, adjusting the layout, adding to it, until my phone buzzes in my pocket about twenty minutes later.
Just finished. I’ll come to you.
I tuck my phone away again and step back into the yard with him.
“Mom’s coming over,” I tell him.
“Good. She can help with our plan.” His focus doesn’t shift from the ground in front of him.
The sound of tires on gravel carries from the front of the house not long after. I push to my feet, brushing the dirt from my hands as Benjy takes off toward the side gate.
“Mom’s here!” he calls, already halfway around the house.
I follow at an easier pace.
By the time I round the corner, he’s already got her hand, words spilling out faster than she can keep up.
“Mom, Reeves bought a house, and I get to pick my room, and it’s going to be blue, and we’re building a fort, and you have to see it—”
She looks up at me over his head, her expression still, like she’s trying to place something she wasn’t expecting to find.
“Come see the backyard!” Benjy pulls her around the side before she can say anything else.
I hang back a step as she takes it in. The marsh stretches out behind the house, the dock reaching toward the water. The open yard is marked with the rough lines we carved into the dirt.
“This is where we’re building it,” Benjy says, pointing. “He said we can start this weekend.”
She turns to me then.
“I thought you were moving to New Orleans.”
I meet her eyes. “Benjy lives here. So this is where I’m going to be.”
Her gaze sharpens slightly. “What about Stone Intermodal?”
“I’ll commute.”
She studies me for a second, like she’s waiting for me to say something else, to explain it or soften it.
I don’t.
“You’re going to drive an hour each way,” she says. “Every day.”
“Yes, or work from home some days.”
“Why?”
I hold her gaze. “It makes more sense for me to adjust.”
The words sit between us without anything added to them.
Benjy tugs on my hand, pulling me back toward the dirt. “Can we measure the wood pieces now?”
I glance down at him, then back at her for a brief second before nodding.
“Let’s grab the tape measure.”