Page 104 of Reeves

When we walk in, I hear the dishwasher running along with the water.

"Time for bed, buddy." Charli's voice carries from the kitchen where she's finishing the dishes.

Benjy's head pops out of the treehouse opening. "Can Reeves read me a story first?"

The request catches me off guard. I stand there stunned like a deer in headlights, not even sure I can read to a child. I used to be terrified of being called on in class to read aloud.

Charli appears in the kitchen doorway, drying her hands with a towel. She looks at me, then at Benjy.

"If he wants to."

She's giving me the choice. I can't say no.

"Sure. I can read you a story."

Benjy scrambles down the hall, disappearing into a room. "Come on! I have the best helicopter book."

He runs back to me when I don't move in the three seconds, grabs my hand, and pulls me toward the back of the house. His palm is warm against mine, small fingers gripping tight like he's worried I might change my mind.

Inside, the hallway is narrow. Pictures line the walls. Most of them show Benjy at different ages. Some include Charli's parents.

None includes me.

Benjy's room is at the end of the hall. The door is painted blue with white trim. He puffs up proudly for me to see his room.

The space is clean but lived in. There's a twin bed with navy sheets, shelves full of books and toy trucks, and a nightlight shaped like a frog plugged into the wall near his pillow.

"This one." He pulls a thick book from the shelf and hands it to me. "It's the one I wanted to show you yesterday. It's all about helicopters."

I take the book and look at the cover. I think I've been saved by the sheer fact that reading actually means flipping the pages and looking at different photos. There's very little copy.

Benjy climbs into bed and pulls the covers up to his earlobes. He pats the edge of the mattress. "You sit here."

I lower myself onto the narrow space he indicated, the bed creaking slightly under my weight.

As I continue to point out the different Chinooks and cargo helicopters, Benjy's breathing grows slower. His eyelids flutter, fighting sleep. By around the tenth page, his head has tilted to one side.

He's falling asleep.

I keep going anyway, lowering my voice to match his drowsy state. The rhythm of reading with him, watching him fade to sleep, feels right. Natural, even.

Movement in the doorway catches my peripheral vision. Charli stands there, leaning against the frame. She's not interrupting, just watching.

How long has she been there?

I finish the chapter and close the book quietly. Benjy's eyes have closed completely. His breathing is deep and even.

Our eyes meet briefly over Benjy's head. She doesn't say anything, but something passes between us. She flips off the overhead light, never breaking eye contact.

The room dims to just the emerald glow from the frog-shaped light.

I was never supposed to be sitting on my son's bed lookingat military copters while his mother watched from the doorway. This kind of domestic scene belongs to other men. Men who stay.

But here I am.

Standing carefully to avoid waking him, I place the book on his nightstand. The nightlight casts soft green markings across his face.

He looks peaceful. Safe.