Page 86 of Reeves

The clothes by the shower are simple. There's a pair of fadedbasketball shorts and a gray t-shirt that's been washed soft. They smell like fabric softener and her perfume. Something like her.

I pull on the shorts first. They fit well enough, though they're shorter in the legs than I usually wear.

The T-shirt pulls tight across my shoulders, and I stand there for a second longer than I need to, my hands still at the hem.

I let go of the fabric and walk around the corner.

Time to face whatever comes next. I'm stuck here whether I want to be or not, since my clothes are in her washing machine.

I step around the corner and find Charli rinsing soap from my clothes in a utility sink attached to the back of the house. She looks up when she hears my footsteps.

"Better?"

"Much. Thanks for saving the day. That was insane."

"You saved the day. I have a feeling if you hadn't grabbed Benjy when you did, he could have been dealing with more than just paint on his clothes. Thank you for doing that."

"It wasn't even a thought. I'm glad I saw it happening in slow motion."

She nods toward the washing machine beside the sink.

"Where's Benjy?"

She glances toward the far side of the yard and points past a large oak tree.

"Up there."

That's when I see it. There's a small wooden treehouse tucked behind the tree, partially hidden by branches. The structure has a peaked roof, a wooden platform, and rungs made out of pieces of wood up the tree to make a ladder. In the late afternoon light, it's clearly visible, but I completely missed it when I was here before.

"I would have killed for a treehouse like that as a kid. My dad didn’t do treehouses.”

"My dad built it last summer. Benjy spends half his free time up there."

I walk across the yard, drawn by curiosity. The wood steps are surprisingly sturdy, not moving with my two-hundred and fifty pounds on them.

That is, until I get about two-thirds of the way up and one of the rungs shifts slightly.

When I reach the top, the platform is maybe four feet by six feet, and the walls are covered in his artwork. My frame doesn't even come close to fitting, but I look around in wonder. I end up standing on one of the steps with one hand braced against the wooden frame, leaning inside to see what Benjy's doing.

He's lying flat on his stomach, coloring a pirate ship in a book. His tongue sticks out slightly as he concentrates on staying inside the lines.

"Nice hideout."

He looks up, not surprised to see me.

"It's my pirate ship. See?"

He holds up the book, showing me a picture of a ship with black sails. His version is colored in neat strokes of brown and black crayon.

"Very cool. You come up here a lot?"

"Every day after school. Sometimes in the morning if we have enough time before school, we don't go on a walk on the beach."

Sounds like a pretty idyllic childhood.

As he talks, I notice a board along the edge of the platform that doesn't sit flush with the others. It shifts slightly when I lean against the frame, and the ladder rocks under my weight.

That's not good.