Page 5 of Reeves

"Fuck you. I was just looking at pictures."

"What was that, ten years ago?"

"No, dipshit. I would've been eighteen ten years ago. This was six. Maybe seven."

Cain shrugs. "Feels like forever."

He isn't wrong there. I slide the photo back behind the others, but leave the edge visible. A compromise I don't examine too closely.

"Didn't know it was still around."

Cain watches me, eyes more calculating than his casual stance suggests. “You still talk to Charli? She was a good one.”

My throat works before I answer. “Haven’t talked to her since I enlisted.”

He nods slowly. “She moved away, too, right? Where is she now?”

I have no clue what Charli is doing. We haven’t spoken since that last night, over six years ago.

“I’m honestly not sure.” I step away from the desk. “Speaking of moving, when are you going to show me this new house of yours? Let’s get out of here. Too many ghosts.”

Cain studies me for a beat, then claps my shoulder. “Yeah. Come on. Let’s relax before the craziness begins.”

The craziness started the minute the wheels touched down at Louis Armstrong.

Fourteen days.

TWO

Charli

The Brass Band:The musicians arrive one by one and fall into formation. The procession does not begin until everyone who belongs has found their place.

I guideEmma's tiny shoulders into position with my thumbs, supporting her belly with my fingers. Her muscles respond with a gentle tension that wasn't there three weeks ago.

"There we go. Look at that neck control."

Emma's mother leans forward, worry lines creasing her forehead. "But she still falls to the left side when she sits. My sister's baby was sitting unassisted at five months."

I adjust Emma's hips with a gentle pressure from my palm. The sunlight through the blinds creates stripes across her onesie.

"See how she's pushing through her palms? That's new. That's strength building." I keep my voice steady, matter-of-fact. "Every baby moves at their own pace. Emma's building her core strength beautifully."

"But the pediatrician said?—"

"We track progress forward, not sideways." I help Emma roll onto her back, supporting her head as she transitions. "Let's look at what she's gaining, not comparing her to other babies. Trust me. You'll drive yourself crazy if you do that."

This is the conversation I have daily with first-time parents. Their anxiety simmers just beneath their skin. I understand it. I felt it too with Benjy. The constant measuring against invisible yardsticks.

Emma coos up at me, her legs kicking with excitement. Her muscle tone is improving. I can feel it in the resistance when I flex her knees.

"Try this at home." I demonstrate the proper position for supporting trunk rotation. "Fifteen minutes, twice daily. No more, or she'll get frustrated."

I place Emma into her mother's arms, guiding her hands to the right positions.

"Like this?"

"Perfect." I smile at her. "You've got this. Emma's lucky to have you paying such close attention."