Chapter 45 Charli
FORTY-FIVE
Charli
The Quiet After: The procession is over and the street has gone still. But nothing that walked it came back the same.
I run my finger around the rim of the empty coffee mug, the quiet settling into the space where noise usually lives. There are no cartoons, no trucks crashing into baseboards, or a small voice asking for more cereal.
I’m getting used to our new normal.
I pour coffee into a mug and leave it on the counter while I wipe down the surface, moving in slow circles, taking my time in a way I never do during the week. There’s no rush this morning.
A small pile of Benjy’s T-shirts sits on the ottoman, warm from the dryer. I fold them one by one, smoothing out the wrinkles before stacking them neatly.
Reeves’s house isn’t what I expected he would buy.
Not oversized or polished. It doesn’t appear to be chosen to impress anyone. Only to serve a purpose, which is to be close to his son.
It’s close. Close to the school. Close to here. Close enough that Benjy can move between the two without it feeling like a disruption.
I carry my coffee out onto the deck. The morning sun filters through the trees, warming the wood beneath my feet. The house still smells faintly like yesterday, the sugar and sweat and the plastic scent of the jump castle still clinging to everything.
His sixth birthday party went off without a hitch, but not without negotiation.
A week before, Reeves texted me a link to a custom-built playset the size of a small house. It was made out of hand-carved cedar, had a climbing wall, zip line, and two slides. The kind of thing you'd find in a magazine spread about someone's Hamptons estate.
He'd love it, Reeves insisted. I have a team lined up to install it in your yard and ready to go for the party if you’re okay with it.
He would, I’d said. He also loves Legos, his friends, and cake with blue frosting. Get him the Lego set he's been asking about since August. Save the cedar mansion for when he's old enough to appreciate it.
He didn't respond right away. But he didn't push.
I sent him the link to the Lego set. Forty-two dollars on . That’s what he gave him for his birthday, instead.
That was the moment I understood something had actually shifted in him.
The party itself went exactly as it should have. Reeves moved through it like he'd been there the whole time. Carrying pizzas in when I pointed. Wiping down tables before I asked. Standing next to me when everyone sang, his hand resting lightly on Benjy's shoulder like it belonged there.
Not once did he try to take over, nor did he hesitate when I gave him a chore.
Thanksgiving is a week and a half away. I haven’t decided what that looks like yet. Mom thinks I should invite him. I haven’t said yes.
I haven’t said no either.
The doorbell rings, pulling me from my thoughts. Mom stands on the porch with a container of food that smells like cinnamon.
"I had extra muffins." She walks past me into the kitchen. "Where's my grandson hiding?"
"He's with Reeves today. They're working on the fort this weekend."
She sets the container on the counter. "That's right. I need to drive by there. Where is it, again?"
I nod, reaching for plates. "The amazing little craftsman on Iris Lane. Right on the marsh."
"And you said he'll be commuting into the city from here?" Her eyebrow lifts slightly as she takes the mug of coffee I offer.
"He says so."
Mom studies me over her coffee. "This doesn't sound like the man you described all those years ago."
“It’s not.” I lean back against the counter. “That version of him didn’t stay anywhere long enough to buy furniture, let alone a house in Bay St. Louis.”
She breaks a muffin in half. “Seems like he figured out what matters.”
I don’t answer that.
After she leaves, I rinse our plates and set them in the rack, watching the water bead and run. I stand in the doorway for a minute, looking out at the quiet street.
It’s not what he did that lingers.
It’s that he did it without asking me to change anything.
I tap my fingers against the side of my mug, the ceramic warm under my hand. We said we’d tell Benjy after Reeves was back for good.
He’s back. And it's time.
I reach for my phone and open the calendar, my thumb hovering for a second before I tap into tomorrow evening and block it off.
A quiet dinner here, just the three of us, seems like the right way to do it. I'll have to run it by Reeves, of course, but I have no reason to believe he won't agree.
Benjy’s going to have questions. He always does. He’ll want to understand how it works, what it means, whether anything changes.
The truth is simple.
I glance toward the hallway, like I might hear him even though I know he’s not here.
I lock my phone and set it on the counter. The idea excites me and scares the shit out of me at the same time.
A shadow moves across the wall, and I glance toward the front just as Reeves’s truck pulls into the driveway. I step out onto the porch.
Benjy is out of the truck before the engine cuts, his shoes hitting the ground hard as he takes off.
“Mom! We built the whole floor part today!” He circles me at full speed, words tumbling over each other. “And we saw a huge snake but Reeves said it was just a garden snake so we let it go. And I hammered six nails by myself.”
“Six whole nails?” I turn as he darts past me.
“I gotta check if my lizard house still has the rocks I put on top!” His voice fades as he disappears around the side of the house.
Reeves shuts the truck door and walks up at an easier pace, dust still clinging to his jeans.
“He helped dig all the post holes,” he says. “Kid’s got stamina.”
“Did you feed him actual food or just marshmallows and gummy bears?”
“Both.” A corner of his mouth lifts. “Turkey sandwich first.”
“Do you have a minute?” I nod toward the patio. “Nothing serious.”
“Yeah.”
We move to the chairs, both of us angled toward the yard where Benjy is already crouched under the treehouse, stacking rocks with careful precision.
I watch him for a second, then look back at Reeves.
“I think it’s time to tell him.”
Reeves doesn’t answer right away. His gaze stays on Benjy, tracking him as he shifts another rock into place.
When he looks back at me, his expression is steady.
“If you think he’s ready, I’m ready.”
No hesitation. No questions. No push.
“He’s been asking more lately,” I say. “About why you’re here so much and why you bought a house here.”
I pause, letting that sit.
“And now that you’re here… and staying…” I meet his eyes. “It feels right.”
He nods once. “Then we’ll tell him, if you think that is best. I want to, of course, but ultimately, I want what’s best for him.”
“Tomorrow night?” I ask. “Dinner here. Just us.”
“Works for me.”
“Mom!” Benjy’s voice carries across the yard. “The rocks all fell down!”
I glance over, then back at Reeves.
“You’d better go help your son with his lizard castle.”
His mouth curves slightly before he pushes to his feet.
I set out three plates on the kitchen table, keeping my movements calm and deliberate. Benjy sits in his usual spot, swinging his legs beneath the chair while he carefully arranges his green beans into a perfect line.
"Is it a special dinner?" Benjy looks up, his eyes narrowing with that observant focus. "You made chicken fingers."
"Sort of special." I place a glass of milk beside his plate. "We want to talk to you about something important after we eat."
Reeves sits across from him, his posture relaxed but attentive. Our eyes meet briefly across the table, an unspoken confirmation passing between us.
Benjy shrugs, unbothered. "Can I have extra ranch?"
The meal passes with Benjy's excited chatter about the fort, of course, and his lizard shelter. When the plates are cleared, we move to the living room couch. Benjy squeezes between us, his small body radiating warmth against my side.
"Benjy, you know how you've been asking questions about Reeves? About why he's here so much?" I keep my voice steady, the way I do when explaining something at the clinic.
He nods, looking between us.
"Well, Reeves isn't just my friend from a long time ago." I rest my hand on his knee. "Reeves is your father."
Benjy's eyebrows pull together as he processes this information. He turns to look at Reeves, studying his face with that careful assessment.
"Like Paolo's dad? That kind of father?"
"Yes." Reeves nods, his voice gentle but firm. "Exactly like that."
"I thought so,” Benjy says this matter-of-factly, as though confirming what he'd already suspected. "We both like building traps and forts. So it makes sense."
I blink, surprised by his perception. "You're right about that."
Benjy looks up at Reeves. "So you're my dad?"
"I am." Reeves meets his gaze directly.
"Can I call you Dad instead of Reeves?" The question comes without hesitation.
Reeves swallows visibly. "If you want to."
"I'd like that." The simple acceptance in his voice makes my chest tighten.
"Okay then." I smile, running my hand through Benjy's hair. "Time for your bath and bed. You've had a big day of building."
Benjy slides off the couch. "Can Dad read me my story tonight?"
"Of course he can." I stand, moving toward our familiar evening routine, grateful for the anchor of normalcy as our world shifts into something new.
I lean against the doorframe, watching Benjy snuggle under his dinosaur comforter. Reeves sits on the edge of the bed, the tank book open across his lap.
His voice drops lower for the serious parts about armor thickness, then rises with enthusiasm when describing how the tracks move. Benjy's eyes stay fixed on the pages, his small fingers tracing the outline of a Sherman tank.
"Only three more pages," I remind them, fighting a smile as they both look up with identical expressions of disappointment.
"But this is the good part," Benjy protests, pointing to an illustration. "Reeves, I mean Dad, was just explaining about the turret."
Dad. The word hangs in the air, natural and right in Benjy's mouth. Like he's been saying it his whole life.
"The turret can wait until tomorrow night." I step into the room, straightening the corner of his blanket. "School tomorrow, remember?"
Benjy sighs dramatically but nods. "Fine."
Reeves closes the book, placing it on the nightstand. "Your mom's right. Tanks need rest, too. We can finish next time you come to my house. Deal?"
"Deal."
Benjy giggles, then reaches up for his goodnight hug. I bend down, breathing in the clean scent of his shampoo. Reeves stands back, uncertain, until Benjy extends his arms toward him, too.
"Night, Dad."
Reeves goes still for a half second. I catch it even in the dark. Then leans down, one hand resting on Benjy's head.
"Sleep tight, buddy."
We step into the hallway. The door clicks behind us.
Neither of us says anything for a moment.
"He went down easy," Reeves says finally. His voice is rough in a way he probably doesn't realize.
"I guess I expected more questions, maybe some anger that we didn't tell him sooner."
"He might, still,” I gently offer. Nothing is ever finished when it comes to a five-year-old.
"Yeah. You're right. Sometimes it takes me time to process things," he says as he takes his bottom lip between his teeth.
"Kids are resilient like that. A lot less complicated than we adults, making something out of nothing like we tend to do."
I'm not sure if he catches my reference to my overreaction to what he did to help me. We've never talked about it since the day I shut him down.
There have been a few times I started to apologize, but sucked it back in, because the end result was the right thing for us.
But standing here now, it seems… smaller somehow. We already moved past whatever it is, even if we never said it out loud.
Only recently, I've started wondering if that is really true. Did I push him away because of my own fears? Was it the right things for us?
Outside on the patio, the night air carries the scent of jasmine from the neighbor's yard. I pull two beers from the cooler and hand one to Reeves.
"Thanks." He takes a seat in the wicker chair beside mine.
"The house on Iris Lane," I say after a moment. "It's perfect for him."
"It's nothing fancy."
"That's why it's perfect. I'm proud of you, Reeves. I know your parents would be, too. You're a really good dad."
Crickets fill the silence between us. The moon hangs low over the tree line, casting silver light across the yard. I watch Reeves's profile, the strong line of his jaw relaxed now, his shoulders loose.
"You didn't have to do any of this," I say finally.
"Yes, I did."
I set my beer on the table between us and stand. Reeves looks up, waiting. Not moving toward me. Not retreating. Just present.
I step forward, lean into him, and cup his face, closing the distance between us.
The first kiss is soft. Familiar in a way that catches us both off guard. It wasn't planned.
When I pull back, he doesn’t chase it. His eyes stay on mine, steady, giving me the space to make it make sense.
I shift, settling onto his lap without breaking the contact, my hands still at his jaw. Neither of us says anything.
His hand comes up to my waist, but he doesn’t move me or take over.
I study him for a second longer, making sure.
Then I kiss him again. This time, it doesn’t feel like I’m giving anything up to do it.
He pulls back just enough to look at me. His thumb traces my jaw, unhurried, like he has nowhere else to be.
"Stay," I say. It comes out quietly, but the request isn’t timid.
His eyes hold mine for a long second.
“I’m not going anywhere.”