Page 26 of Reeves

And if he had been someone different, he wouldn’t have been Reeves.

The doorbell rings, interrupting my thoughts. Mom stands on the porch with a plastic container in her hands. She sees me, waves, and walks in before I can reach her.

"I was cleaning out the pantry and found that vanilla extract you asked to borrow last week." Mom steps inside, carrying the small brown bottle along with the plastic container. "And I made extra potato salad."

"Perfect timing. I was just starting to think about dinner." I take both items, moving back into the kitchen. "Benjy's in the treehouse if you want to say hi."

Mom peers out the window, smiling as she spots him. "Let him play. I can't stay long anyway. Your father's waiting for me to help hang those new shelves in the garage."

She leans against the counter, eyes on the day's mail I'd scattered across the table. "So? How did that meeting go today? The one with that healthcare company?"

I set the potato salad in the fridge, buying myself a second.

"I'm glad you pushed me to look more carefully at their offer. You were right to be skeptical."

"What happened?"

"They were professional. And a lot of what they're offering makes sense." I tap my fingers against the counter. "But I don't need it. What I have works for Benjy and me."

Mom nods, unsurprised. "I think that's a very wise assessment."

I lean against the counter, watching Benjy in the treehouse.

"You built that clinic from nothing, Charli." Mom crosses her arms. "You should ask hard questions before handing it over."

I nod. "I'm not going to do it."

"So you're turning them down?"

"I am."

Mom smiles, pride visible in the crinkles around her eyes. "You know your own mind, Charbar. Always have."

Through the window, Benjy waves frantically from the treehouse window, pointing at a red bird in the branches. I move toward the back door, hand resting on the knob.

"He's spotted a cardinal out there," I say, attention shifting toward the yard.

I push open the back door, warm air meeting my face as I step onto the porch. The late afternoon sun stretches long shadows across our yard, painting the grass in golden light.

"Benjy! Did you find a new friend?”

He points excitedly at something in the oak branches. "Mom! There's a whole nest with baby birds! Three of them with their mouths open super wide!"

"Don't get too close," I caution. "The mama bird needs to take care of them."

Behind me, Mom continues talking about Dad's endlessgarage organization project. Her voice fades slightly as I lean against the porch railing, squinting up at the treehouse where Benjy kneels by the window, completely absorbed in his discovery.

"He's going to be hungry after all that climbing," Mom says. "Should I help you start dinner?"

“I’ve got it covered,” I say, turning back toward the kitchen. “Just need to?—”

The words stall when the low rumble of an engine rolls down the street. My hand pauses against the doorframe.

There’s a particular sound to a big engine moving slowly past a row of houses. It's deep and heavy. The kind that reverberates through the pavement before the vehicle even comes into view.

The kind of powerful engine that doesn’t belong on a street like this.

I glance toward the road just as a black Hummer passes the front of the house.