Page 196 of Reeves

"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, butsucked 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."