“Looks like I’ll need to hit the hardware store. What else can I help with before I go?”
Twenty minutes later, Maurice was back with a filter and oil.
The twins watched him work. He lubricated the bearing. Changed the filter, checked the gas connections, and tightened the panel. The knocking stopped.
“It should be warmer in a little bit. Then you can turn the thermostat down.” Maurice wiped his hands.
“What do we owe you?” Jasmine asked.
“Nothin’. I got it.”
“We can’t let you—”
“You didn’t let me do anything. I wanted to help.” Maurice looked around the basement and noticed things. Water stains on a wall. Exposed wiring. Stairs in need of tightening.
He couldn’t help it, the noticing.
“You see anything else?” Justin asked, watching him.
“No. Not really.” Maurice paused. “I’m sorry. I work in construction. A reentry program where we teach folks coming out of prison how to renovate houses. I’m used to looking at what needs repair.”
“Mom never asks anyone to fix anything,” Jasmine said. “Does it herself or just lives with it.”
“I noticed.” Maurice headed up the stairs. “I got a three-month filter, so you should be good for a bit. I can show you how to change it.”
“I’ve been doing some stuff, and Auntie has been visiting more with Avery. They fix some things.” Justin preened a little.
In the kitchen, as he washed his hands, he noticed the faucet dripped and the backsplash needed re-grouting. Small things. Repairable things. Things Monique probably didn’t have the time or money to address.
“You hungry?” Justin asked. “We were gonna order a pizza.”
Maurice checked his phone. It was a little after four in the afternoon. “I should get going.”
“You can stay,” Jasmine said.
Maurice hesitated.
“Please?” Justin said. “We want to thank you. And honestly”—he shrugged—“I’ve got questions.”
“Yeah? About what?”
“About why you flew to Chicago.” Justin gave him a tight, apologetic smile. “And other stuff.”
Maurice looked at these two kids. Almost twenty. Not kids anymore. Adults who loved their mother and were trying to figure out if he was worth her time. He understood that. “Okay. Pizza sounds good. What can be here in a half hour?”
They sat at the kitchen table. Jasmine insisted her pizza choice was the best for introducing Maurice to Chicago pizza. Justin promised to choose the next place.
Something shifted in Maurice’s chest at the small bit of acceptance and promise of spending more time together.
“So,” Justin said, sitting down with a pitcher of water and glasses. “You were in prison?”
“Justin!” Jasmine hissed.
“What? I’m just asking. Most people who work in reentry are systems-impacted themselves. Why are your flabbers all gasted, Jas? It’s called deductive reasoning. You go to college.”
“It’s rude, Justin. Just blurting out stuff like that.”
“It’s okay,” Maurice said. “Yes. I was fifteen when I went in. Thirty-seven when I got out.”