The hotel wasn’t far from the airport. Close to where he needed to be. Exactly the kind of place Deb would pick. The room had one bed. A desk. A window overlooking a wide, busy street.
He was in a new city on the first day of a new year. This was pretty momentous. After dropping his bag, he sat at the foot of the bed and pulled out his phone. Still no response to his text to Monique. But there was a text from Jasmine.
JASMINE
Hi, Mr. Martin. This will probably seem weird, but do you know anything about furnaces?
He stared at the text, trying to make sense of what was happening. Was her child asking him to come to their house without Monique’s permission?
MAURICE
I know a few things. What’s the address?
An hour later, Maurice stood outside a brick bungalow near a park that he just knew was a knockout when the wind and ice weren’t trying to peel folks’ skin off. Monique’s home had a raised basement, a stone porch, and sat on a narrow lot on a working-class, tree-lined street. Had to be a hundred years old, easily. Just the type of house Maurice liked to work on. The kind of home Deb’s program was built for. A place that Monique had lived in her entire life.
He climbed the stairs and knocked on the door.
A tall, lanky young man with Monique’s eyes answered the door. “Mr. Martin?”
“Maurice is fine. You must be Justin.” He stuck out his hand. Justin took it. “Great to meet you.”
“Yep,” Justin said, stepping aside to let Maurice in. “Thanks for coming. Auntie and Avery sometimes come through and do things here and there. Mom usually deals with the mechanical stuff, but—” He stopped. “You know…”
“I know. It’s okay. I’m glad you called.”
The house was warm and lived in. Hardwood floors that needed refinishing. Built-ins and walls in need of a coat of paint. Photos of the twins throughout the years on the mantle and walls and every flat surface, birthday parties, graduations, Monique young and smiling. Lifetimes documented on the walls.
“Oh wow! You’re really here!” a young woman with rainbow braids and Monique’s smile said in greeting.
“You said you needed help.”
“I did. The furnace is in the basement. The house isn’t getting as warm as it should.”
“She’s complaining because she goes to school in Nashville and forgot how cold weather works,” Justin said.
“You can mind your business.”
Maurice chuckled. “Show me the thermostat first, please.”
Justin took him back into the living room, where he pointed to an analog thermostat that was set to eighty. Just moving through a couple of rooms, the house told Maurice more about itself.
A draft had greeted him in the entry but was coming out of the bedrooms. Windows probably needed caulking. And a thermostat update might be in order. Maurice then followed the kids down the wooden stairs to the partially finished basement. The mechanics sat in a corner of the open room with its exposed beams and concrete floor.
He knelt beside the furnace and listened. Rhythmic knocking. Metal on metal. He already knew but still had to ask. “When was the last time this has been cleaned?”
The twins looked at each other and shrugged.
Maurice pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight. He checked the filter and blower, then the pilot.
“Blower bearings are dry. That’s the knocking. And your filter’s clogged.”
“Is it expensive to fix?” Jasmine asked quietly.
Maurice saw worry on the young woman’s face. The kind of worry that he’d worn too many times himself, when money was thin and pockets were stretched even thinner.
He shook his head. “Nope. Just needs some grease and a new filter.” He stood. “Do you have any three-in-one oil, like you might use for a bike chain? And where does your mom keep the extra filters?”
“There might be some oil in the junk drawer in the kitchen or the garage,” Justin said. “But I don’t know about filters.”