Chapter 23 #2
“Most of them got turned out by one too many foster homes for poor behavior. After a while, they build a reputation for themself and no one else will take them. Some are here because they’ve gotten in trouble with the law. But all of them are kids who have been given an unfair start to life.”
He seems to be lost in a memory, eyes glazing over as he watches the boys toss the football around and roughhouse.
“Sam and Patti, they own this place, are angels walking amongst humans. There isn’t a kid who’s come to them that they haven’t been able to reach.
Many of the kids who come to live here go on to graduate from high school and get a four year degree at a top college or trade school.
Whatever they prefer. Sam and Patti help them get back on track and get a fair shot at a real life. ”
I watch him as he explains everything to me and nervously lick my lips. There’s a question I want to ask but part of me is too afraid to. Too worried about upsetting him.
“Did you…” I start.
He glances back at me when I don’t finish my sentence. He must see the worry in my eyes because he finishes my thought.
“No. I never lived here. I went to live with Ivy right around Christmas and never left. Best damn Christmas gift I’ve ever gotten.” He smiles to himself, dropping his eyes to his lap before looking back at me. “Come on, I’m starving.”
He hops out of the truck and hurries to open my door for me.
Again, he offers his hand to help me out of the truck.
Walking towards the food trucks, I take in the landscape a little more and smile at how happy all the kids look.
It’s a massive property set in the dead center of several open acres.
The home itself looks like it could be a hundred years old and almost looks like a castle.
The exterior is made up of an old rock facade and a large front staircase takes you inside.
“The food trucks were my idea,” Miles comments close to my ear.
“I’m sorry?” I’m so enthralled taking everything in that I almost miss what he says.
“The food trucks.” He nods his head towards the vehicles that are lined up and serving hungry people. “They were my idea. They help raise money for Fresh Start to keep it operational.”
“Do you work here?” I wasn’t sure how he’d have time for a second job but it wouldn’t surprise me if he worked here on top of the firehouse. He has one of the biggest hearts I’d ever seen.
“Oh, gosh no.” He shakes his head. “I volunteer pretty consistently, especially in December and around the holidays. I know how hard this time of year can be as a foster kid so I like to come around, play with the kids, and help Sam and Patti where they need it.”
“Miles, my boy, nice to see you, son,” an older man calls out. He’s with a woman, both of them at least in their seventies, with sun-kissed skin and gray hair.
“Sam, I was hoping I’d see you today. Hello, Patti, you’re looking as stunning as ever.” When Miles leans in to give the older woman a peck on the cheek, she hmms to herself and blushes.
“Oh, Miles, you charmer.” She bats him on the arm with a laugh. When she notices me standing next to him, her penciled on eyebrows reach for her hairline. “And who did you bring with you? Well aren’t you the cutest peach in the pack? What’s your name, sweetie?”
I smile at her Southern hospitality and offer her my hand. “I’m Hanna. I’m…friends with Miles.”
“Well a friend of Miles is a friend of ours,” she replies, completely ignoring my handshake and pulling me into a hug instead. She smells like the same classic perfume every old woman seems to wear. When she lets me go and I look at Miles, he’s absolutely beaming at us.
“I thought we’d take part in the food trucks and check in and see if either of you needed anything,” he says, taking a step closer to me when I pull away from Patti. Sam sees the move and smirks.
“Ahh, no, we’re all good here. Just enjoy the food and feel free to stay as long as you like.”
“Samuel, what are you talkin’ about?” his wife hisses besides him. “Tell Miles about it.”
“Patricia, not now. He has a lady with him,” the older man pushes back as if we aren’t standing right in front of them. I glance up at Miles and bite back a laugh.
Patti huffs out a breath. “Well if he didn’t want to help because he brought this pretty girl with him, he wouldn’t have offered, now would he?” Her Southern drawl comes out thick as she looks to her husband, clearly exacerbated. Then she turns to look up at Miles.
“We have a new child in tow and he’s a little closed off,” Patti starts to explain. “More often than not they tend to open up after a few days but it’s been nearly a week. He won’t come out of his room or eat with us at meals. Just prefers to take his food back to his room with him.”
“Okay, are you worried he’s a danger to himself? Hanna is a therapist, she could talk to him,” Miles offers. He glances at me to check if that’s okay and I shrug. I haven’t worked with kids since my graduate program but am happy to do so if they need it.
“Oh, that would be nice but honestly, I think he needs a man a little closer to his age to talk to. Someone who he could look up to,” she explains, looking up at Miles with hopeful eyes.
Smiling, he reaches out and gives her arm a reassuring squeeze. “Sure, I’d be happy to talk to him. What room is he in?”
“3A, at the end of the hall. Thank you, Miles. I’m sure it’ll mean a lot to him and it’s a huge help to us.”
“Of course. Hanna and I will go up and see if we can’t find him,” he finishes. Then, in a turn of events I’m not expecting, he takes my hand into his and guides us into the house.
“Good people, right?” he asks, still holding onto my hand as we walk up the steps.
“Yeah, great people,” I manage to respond.
My heart is thumping in my chest both because of the incline of the steps but also because he’s holding my hand. I could pull away. I should pull away. But I don’t want to. There’s a gentle comfort from him holding onto me that I’m not ready to have disappear yet.
When we reach the top of the stairs, I point in the direction of the room Patti told us about.
Exactly as she said, there’s a single door at the end of the hall with a gold plated 3A nailed into it.
There’s a piece of paper taped to the door with something written on it.
The closer we get, the more the words become distinguishable. Whoever wrote it did so in a hurry.
NOLAN’S ROOM. KEEP OUT. NO TRESPASSING. ANY FORBIDDEN ENTRANCE WILL RESULT IN BODILY HARM AND INJURY. IF YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU, KEEP OUT.
The last ‘keep out’ is underlined multiple times.
“So walking right in is probably not a good idea, right?” Miles says out of the corner of his mouth.
I smack my lips at him. “It would be a very bad idea; just knock and see if he answers.”
Extending a hand, he knocks on the door and waits.
Nothing at first. When he knocks a second time, there’s the sound of shuffling on the other side.
Suddenly, the door swings open and a boy who can’t be more than sixteen is staring at us from the other side of the threshold.
He’s wearing a zip-up hoodie that’s threatening to swallow him whole and a pair of jeans with more pockets in them than I can count.
His hair is dark, nearly black, and is grown out and covering part of his face.
Somehow, he has a tattoo on his neck that I can’t make out the design of and his fingernails are painted black to match his sweatshirt.
Behind him, I can see pages and pages of line art and sketches hung up on the walls.
“Who the hell are you?” he spits, giving us his best scowl.
“Who the hell are you?” Miles barks back, matching his attitude.
The boy looks around like he isn’t sure what to do. Rolling his eyes, he goes to slam the door but Miles stops him by jamming his foot in the doorway.
“There’s food trucks outside, you hungry?”
“Why the fuck would I get food with you? I don’t even know your name,” the boy argues.
“I’m Miles and this is Hanna,” Miles introduces. When he waves a hand in my direction, I give the boy a polite nod. His eyes bounce between the two of us.
“S-well,” he leers before screwing his face up into a grimace. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”
“Did you draw all of those?” I hurry out before he tries to close the door again.
This gets him to pause and look back towards the pages littered on his walls.
“Inspired by the icons, I see. You’re like a modern day Rembrandt,” I compliment.
This gets him snuffing out a laugh. “No one is like a modern day Rembrandt. Especially me. Anyone who tries to be on his level is nothing but a poser.”
“Poser or not, you’re pretty good. With a little work, maybe some professional supplies, you could be great.” I keep my tone even and soft. I don’t want him to think I’m blowing smoke to get him to like me. The kid really does have some natural talent in him. I can tell by looking at his sketches.
Nolan looks towards his shoes which have seen better, and cleaner, days and stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets.
He chews on his bottom lip, sucking on the metal hoop that’s been punched through the bottom corner of his mouth.
He anxiously glances at me a few times before mumbling under his breath.
“I’ve always wanted to take a drawing class.”
Miles glances at me optimistically and nods, encouraging me to keep talking.
“We could talk about getting that set up for you. I have a friend who’s really big in the music scene, but I’m sure he knows some local artists who might be willing to sit with you,” I offer.
George is all about supporting creatives when and where he can. While music is more his speed, I know he has connections in the art world and would be more than happy to ask for a favor if I asked him to.
“Yeah right, like any real artist would do that.”