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“Grandma said she won’t come back!” Jason adds, his voice choked with emotion, and he begins to cry again. I offer him my other arm, but he opts his grandmother’s pant leg.
Then I turn to Mrs. Winslow, who now holds her hands in front of her mouth and looks at me with eyes full of tears.
“My girl fell down the stairs… And now they want to take her children away from me,” she says, quickly crumbling to pieces.
Now it's her turn to receive a hug. I let her sob against my chest, staining my shirt with her tears, for as long as she needs, with no hurry at all.
Only when she starts to calm down do I start talking. “What can I do to help?”
“Eh…” she wipes her eyes carefully to not mess with her makeup. “It’s too complicated, boy. Even for you.”
I shake my head with vigor, eyes closed in a display of defiance. “Nothing is too complicated if you have the will to fight it, Mrs. Winslow. Now tell me… What can I do to help?”
Mrs. Winslow takes a deep breath and unwraps herself from my arms, so gently I barely notice it. The kids still look up to her with their face smudged with tears, and she encourages them to depart from her and to join the rest of the children in play.
“Go play, sweeties; grandma needs to talk to Mr. Winters,” Mrs. Winslow pushes them ahead, and they hesitantly go toward the rest of the crowd.
She takes another deep breath, complete with a shaky exhale and her hands posed upward, as if reaching for God in a place where he hardly is.
“The social workers said the house is too old and too full of mold for anyone to live in,” she says, her eyes gleaming with sadness. “But even if we fixed the house, I’d need to pass some sort of mental test.”
“Cognitive?” I try to help. “They want you to take a cognitive test?”
“That!” she points a finger at me. “I have to pass that test because they think I’m too old and that I can’t take care of my grandbabies!”
Mrs. Winslow starts to cry again, and I just place a timid hand over her shoulder and give her time to collect herself.
“This isn’t a test you have to study for, Mrs. Winslow. You either are, or you aren’t,” I say. “And to me, you look like you are!”
I say it with my voice light, and her mood lightens up the same moment. She hugs me again, feeling better about the whole ordeal. Pulling back, she looks at me and says, “Your mother raised a good boy, Mr. Winters.”
“She’ll be happy to know it,” I smile. “So, how long do we have to put your house in tip-top shape?”
“They’ll be back with a health inspector in three weeks,” she says.
“Oh, short notice…” I say, then place both of my hands on her shoulders. “But tomorrow I’ll bring a contractor to your house, and we’ll see how much it’s going to cost. I have friends that can help too, Mrs. Winslow. Everything is going to be alright!”
She smiles a smile full of hope, and gives me one last hug, squeezing me tight.
“I’ll be back to talk to you tomorrow morning, Mrs. Winslow,” I say as a promise.
“And I will be here waiting, boy!” she says, departing from me to go mingle and receive the condolences of her neighbors.
I get on my phone immediately, calling the contacts I have of reliable 24/7 contractors. After I reach one and they agree to help and send me quotes, I go back to my work with the cleanup, eager for tomorrow to come.
Once I have the estimate from the contractor, I can start to gather funds and organize the renovations.
Charity starts with the first spark, and with the means I have, I’m glad to be the first spark in this situation.
Chapter Nineteen
LIV
Alexcamebackatsix, looking peaceful and happy. It’s the first time I’ve see his post-charity face, and I must say I’m enjoying it very much.
With Harlan absorbed in his video game, he walks quietly toward us. Kissing the top of Harlan’s head, he then crawls onto the couch by my side to kiss me and hold me and talk to me in hushed tones.
“Where’s Lilly?” he asks, whispering to me.
