Page 70 of Reeves

"We could bring a shovel," Benjy suggests. "A real one, not just our hands."

"Tools help," Reeves says simply.

I study Reeves in the dim light, the way he considers each of Benjy's suggestions without dismissing any of them. I appreciate how he offers practical additions that make the whole plan sound more legitimate.

"He doesn't usually warm up to people this fast," I say, half-teasing.

Reeves shrugs. “He’s got a solid plan.”

That simple response says more than it should. Reeves isn't trying to win anyone over or prove he belongs here. He’s just treating Benjy’s enthusiasm as if it matters.

"Do you think we'll catch them this time?" Benjy asks.

"Hard to say. Depends on how clever they are."

The conversation gradually quiets as we turn onto my street. Benjy's energy finally starts to fade, his voice dropping to a more normal volume. The flashlight rests in his lap now instead of waving through the air.

Outside, familiar houses pass by with their porch lights glowing. The same neighborhood I've lived in for years.

But tonight shifts the whole picture.

Reeves isn’t just someone I used to love. He’s the man I thought I’d build a life with, who couldn’t, and now he’s sitting in the driver’s seat talking with my son like this is how it should be.

That realization hits me hard.

Reeves parks in our driveway and cuts the engine. The sudden quiet makes Benjy's yawns more obvious as he slumps against his seatbelt.

"That was the best recon mission ever," he mumbles, but his eyelids are getting heavy.

"You did good work out there," Reeves says, unbuckling his own seatbelt. I notice the small wince when he twists in the seat to look at Benjy.

“Could I use your restroom before I drive back?”He turns toward me, our faces suddenly only inches apart.

The question catches me off guard. Not because it's unreasonable, but because it means stepping into the space that's been just mine and Benjy's.

"Of course."

I climb out and wait while Benjy extracts himself from the backseat, still clutching his flashlight. He moves more slowly now, the beach adventure finally catching up with him.

“Down the hall, first door on the right,” I tell Reeves as we step inside.

He nods and disappears down the hallway without hesitation, like the house makes sense to him even though he’s never been here.

Benjy slips out of his shoes and then darts down the same hallway toward his room.

“I’ll be right back!”

I barely have time to close the door before he comes racingback with a book pressed against his chest. The edges are worn, and the cover is faded from being opened a hundred times.

“What’ve you got there?” I ask.

He holds it up proudly. A picture book about military helicopters. One of his favorites from the library.

“Reeves knows about these,” he says. “I want him to read it with me.”

My stomach tightens.

“Ben, it’s late. Reeves still has to drive back to New Orleans.”