Page 191 of Reeves

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 Gulfbreeze, 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.