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“The nanny should be coming any minute,” and as if the scene is rehearsed, the intercom rings, announcing her arrival. “But you are more than welcome to stay.”
I answer the door, and before I can wake Harlan, he comes darting through the kitchen with his arms open, running around like a cartoon character.
I eat and then bid my goodbyes. I get to Helding Heights just in time for a quick clean-up on the gymnasium before it opens to the public.
I meet Simon there, sweeping the kitchen floor, while other workers prepare the food for the day — corn, shredded chicken in red sauce, and rice.
“How’s it going, Simon?” I say, heading for the maintenance closet to get a broom. “No more playing with guns?”
“No, Mr. Winters,” the boy lowers his gaze to the floor.
Broom at hand, I start to sweep outside of the kitchen area, while Simon keeps on avoiding eye contact.
“Have you ever thought about joining the Armed Forces, Simon?” I ask him. “My father talked about it with me when I was your age, and I only benefited from it.”
“Humpf, you’re rich, Mr. Winters,” Simon says in disbelief.
“I wasn’t back then!” I say. “That didn’t happen until after my thirties, Simon. Being in the Navy taught me discipline, cooperation, and everything else I needed to be a functional adult.”
Simon nods in understanding, though he appears skeptical.
“Do they accept anyone?” he asks.
“You just have to demonstrate interest and enlist, but they all perform tests to see if you’re a good fit. Some are easier than others,” I say.
The kid opens up, bobbing his head around, his eyes showing more interest.
“Do they pay you money?”
“From day one of training!” I say, collecting the litter with the dustpan.
“Nice,” he says but his enthusiasm wanes quickly. “Nah, but it’s only for when I turn eighteen, right?”
“Right…” I say, sensing his disappointment.
“I can’t wait that long to make money…” he mutters under his breath.
I consider his words for a moment. Without the prospect of a regular job, these kids will find employment in a more unsavory, unsafe way.
“This neighborhood is missing a place for you kids to find work, right?”
“Yup!” he says, enthused. “But if you do something like that around here, Big Teddy is coming for you, Mr. Winters.”
“I know, Simon, but I’ll see what I can do,” I say, and by focusing on my work, let the conversation die at that.
The center opens half an hour later, full of activities for kids and adults alike.
I see two children, Keisha and Jason Bellamy in the distance, but they don’t seem eager to play with the rest of the kids.
As I get closer, I see they are crying. They both cling to Mrs. Winslow, their grandmother, sobbing haplessly.
I approach them carefully, reluctant to interfere, but wanting to find out what happened. Crouching in front of them, I ask in my calmest voice, “What happened, kids?”
Keisha is the first one to turn to me, her little heart full of bravery. She wipes tears from her eyes and utters “Our mother died, Mr. Winters…”
My heart breaks into a million pieces. Harlan was only two when Rebecca died, but these children are old enough to understand that she will not return.
“I’m so sorry, dear,” I express, and extend my arms for a comforting hug. Kiesha takes the offer and buries her face in the curve of my arm.
