Page 186 of Reeves

"I'll be back soon," he says through a mouthful of pancake. "Don't worry."

"I know you will. I'm not worried." I wipe syrup from his chin with a paper towel. "Just used to having you around."

He finishes his breakfast in record time, and I wipe the rest of the syrup from his face with a paper towel. We move through the final morning dance, and then I load his things into the car.

I turn the car into Westlake's lot, joining the procession of minivans and SUVs winding toward the drop-off zone. Benjy bounces in his seat, his bug book still clutched against his chest.

"Remember, Reeves is picking you up after school." My voice stays casual, like I'm just reminding him about a dentist appointment.

"I know! He's taking me to get my sleeping bag first." Benjy tugs at his seatbelt, ready to bolt the moment we stop.

The car ahead moves forward, and I pull up to the curb where Ms. Lin waits to open the door.

"Do you have everything? Lunch? Book? Magnifying glass?"

Benjy nods quickly. "Yep. All packed."

The teacher opens his door, and cool morning air rushes in. "Good morning, Benjy!"

"Morning, Ms. Lin!" He unclicks his seatbelt and grabs his backpack.

I lean across the console. "Have a good day, Bug Hunter. And have so much fun on your adventure with Reeves."

"I will." He wraps his arms around my neck for our usual quick hug. His hair smells like the apple shampoo he insisted on buying last month.

"Love you," I say.

"Love you too!" He pulls away and hops out of the car.

I watch him walk toward the building, backpack bouncing against his small frame with each step. His stride is confident, purposeful. At the doors, he turns and waves once before disappearing inside.

I put the car in drive and merge back into the line of departing vehicles.

As I drive away, the awareness settles in. For the first time, someone else will be there when the final bell rings. Someone else will hear about his day first, and will see his face light up with stories about whatever bug he drew in science class.

I grip the steering wheel tighter. It's just four days. This is a good thing. It's about him, not me.

At work, I move through appointments with steady focus. Mrs. Lafferty brings in twin girls for their developmental assessment. The printer jams twice. My lunch sits forgotten in the break room refrigerator.

Normal day.

Three patients later, I notice the clock reads 3:15 when I get in my car to head home. My stomach tightens automatically, the same pull that hits every day at this time because I'm usually heading to school pick up.

By the time I get home, I'm too emotionally drained to do my charts. I have four days to work on them, so I go out to the deck to sit. I rarely get the opportunity to do that.

My phone vibrates against my leg. I ignore it at first. When I finally turn it over, I see Reeves's name on the screen. Beneath it, a photo of Benjy climbing into the Hummer, grinning with his backpack clutched against his chest.

Bug Hunter secured. Next stop: camping supplies.

No problems. No questions. No need for me to step in.

Have fun. Call tonight before bed?

Will do. He says he needs to tell you about the grasshopper in the science room.

I smile, placing the phone back facedown on my lap. The tension in my shoulders eases slightly. This is what we've built over the past few months. We both agreed that we want a system where Benjy has both of us, even though we're not together as a family.

The refrigerator hums. The clock above the stove ticks. I pull out bread, cheese, and tomatoes for a sandwich. One plate. One glass. No cutting crusts off or slicing things into precise triangles.