Page 3 of Reeves

I shift in the seat, my knees crowding the dash. Gabe’s truck has more room than most, but it's still tight.

“You're staying at your dad's house, right?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

I look out the window as we pass a strip of low buildings with faded signage and boarded windows. “It'll be weird to stay there without him.”

Gabe doesn’t answer right away. He taps his thumb once against the steering wheel, then again.

“Ms. Landry will make sure you're taken care of.”

“I’m not here for the company,” I say. “Or any of that.”

My grip tightens slightly on my knee. I ease it back before it turns into more.

Gabe downshifts as we hit a light, the truck slowing smoothly. He glances over again, quieter this time.

“I’m sorry, man. About your dad.”

Gabe and I don't get all warm and fuzzy, which I appreciateabout him. But he's a damn good friend. He's always been there for me, and he cared about my dad.

I nod once. “Yeah. Thanks, Bro. And thanks for being there for my brothers during all of this shit.”

After he was discharged from the Navy, my father gave him a job at Stone Intermodal. I'm still not entirely sure what he does, but everyone loves him. I think he's basically their bitch.

He's a computer whiz, and as far as I know, he works with my computer nerd brother, Wells. All I know is he's on the payroll.

We sit in it for a second until the light changes.

“You guys are family.”

I look back out the window. The neighborhoods start to shift as we move farther from the airport. Commercial strips give way to narrower streets, older buildings, and deeper porches.

My phone buzzes. I pull it out to see a text from Cain, my other brother who moved back to Louisiana from New York after our father died.

Landed?

I type back.

En route to house. 20 min.

The closer we get to the river, the heavier the air becomes. I don’t need to see the Mississippi to know it’s there. The city bends around it like it did for my father.

That murky water built my family’s name. Every shipment, every contract, every dollar runs through it one way or another.

The Stone estate gates appear ahead. The wrought iron twists into the family crest, going up twelve feet at the top. It was built to keep people out. Or in. The house looms beyond, white columns catching the golden evening light.

My shoulders stiffen. It's jet lag, or maybe dehydration. Nothing to do with standing where my father stood thousands of times, knowing he'll never stand there again.

Gabe opens the gate with a remote and pulls around to the front door. I step out into the wall of heat, duffel in hand.

We step through the grand entrance, and the cool air immediately hits my damp skin. The foyer stretches wide, marble floors gleaming under crystal chandeliers. Every surface is polished to perfection. There's no dust allowed in Robert Stone's domain.

"Hey, man. I've got to run, but I'll be back to catch up. I'll let you get settled. If not today, I'll see you tomorrow at the memorial. Don't forget we're hanging while you're here."

"Thanks for the ride, Gabe. We'll catch up."

He walks back out to his truck, and I look around, taking in the house I haven't set foot in for three years. It's smaller without my father here.