Page 81 of Reeves

Stop it. I can't cling to that. I can't let Benjy cling to that. Reeves would never be able to stay longer than a day trip here or there.

"Mom? You coming?"

Both of them have stopped on the other side of the street.Benjy waves me over while Reeves waits patiently, not commenting on my momentary hesitation.

I cross quickly, catching up as they approach Margie's Deli.

The lunch crowd has thinned, but the small space still hums with conversation and the sounds of sandwich assembly behind the counter. We claim a table near the window where Benjy can watch boats in the harbor while he studies the menu.

"Grilled cheese with a side of barbeque chips, right?" I ask him.

"What are you getting?" Benjy directs the question to Reeves.

"Probably the roast beef. With mustard and pickles. And a side of grilled cheese."

They both laugh. Then Benjy looks at me. "I want roast beef, too. With mustard and pickles. And a side of grilled cheese."

Reeves raises an eyebrow at me. "That okay with his stomach?"

The question surprises me. Most people assume parents make food decisions without input. But he's checking instead of assuming.

"He can handle it. I'm not sure he can finish it all, but that's okay."

While we wait for our order, Benjy and Reeves color on the menu. I notice Reeves's tongue sticks out of the side of his mouth slightly whenever he colors. Just like Benjy's. How did I never notice that he did that before?

Maybe because we never colored together.

An older couple at the next table glances over at us, smiling at Benjy's animated questions.

They see a family. A Dad indulging his son's curious questions while Mom watches fondly. The assumption sits strangely in my gut. It's warm and unsettling at the same time.

Our sandwiches arrive and Benjy takes a careful bite of his roast beef, chewing thoughtfully.

We all talk easily, telling funny stories and laughing. It's a good lunch. An amazing lunch.

Benjy finishes half his sandwich and slides out of his chair.

"I want to go see the ice cream flavors."

He wanders toward the front counter where the glass window displays each of the ice cream tubs, leaving Reeves and me sitting across from each other in sudden quiet.

I watch Benjy examine the case with serious concentration, pointing at different flavors while debating their merits with himself. He does this every time, and then always ends up going with the superman. I think it's the colors and the name, not the taste.

"He's got strong opinions about food," Reeves says.

"About everything. He thinks through his choices."

"Gets that from you."

Does he? Or does he get it from the man sitting across from me? I don't voice the question. Some observations are better kept inside.

A painter works near the front of the deli, touching up pale blue trim around the ceiling. His ladder stretches tall beside the counter, several open paint cans balanced on a small platform near the top.

Benjy drifts closer to watch the brush strokes, fascinated by the careful technique. He's always been drawn to people working with their hands, probably from all those afternoons helping his grandfather in the garage.

"Benjy, stay clear of the ladder," I call softly.

He nods but continues watching, hands clasped behind his back in that thoughtful pose he gets when studying something interesting.