“Are you ready to work?” I asked.
His eyes followed down to my hand, realizing I was grasping his scars. He swallowed thickly, tears cresting his eyes as he kissed each of the children’s heads. It was less like a kiss and more like a sorrowful apology for stepping out into a place he never should’ve been. My heart swelled with pride at the sight of a man willing to admit his mistakes even when he had nothing to lose by committing them. “Whatever it is, I’m ready. I just don’t do no illegal stuff.”
A homeless man with morals. He was definitely the right guy.
“I know a foreman who works at various construction sites. Specializes in building small homes for people who could use ‘em. They’re setting up a new site in town, and we’re looking to hire someone else.”
“I’ll work for food. It ain’t nothin’,” he said.
“No. That’s one of my rules. We pay you in money.”
“What good’s money gonna do me?” he asked. “I ain’t got no place to put it.”
“We’ll figure all that out,” I said, waving my hand. “But I have another rule. You’ve got to work hard. You’ve got to show up on time and take care of yourself. It’s manual labor, and we don’t need you getting hurt.”
“What am I gonna do with my kids?”
His kids. Lik
e he had somehow given them life. Breath. Birthed them with women he loved. My mind swirled with things he would need, a bank account, an ID, tax forms we’d need to set up for him.
This was a good thing.
“We’ll find something,” I said. “They’ll be taken care of while you’re working.”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“And why’s that?”
His eyes flickered down to where I was holding onto his arm, and I knew what he was thinking. His trouble with drugs. He probably wouldn’t pass a drug test if I administered one. I could see the look of panic in his eyes being overshadowed by disappointment. The disappointment that one decision he made could now cost him the best thing that had ever been thrown his way.
“Here’s the deal,” I said. “The work is clearing out the site and learning the manual labor tactics that come with building a home. This foreman works with some talented men who’ve been crafting houses for years. They can teach you the ropes, and you can help clean off the site and get tools. You’ll be an intern, so to speak, a paid intern. But you have to pay attention, you have to learn, and you have to stay clean.”
“I can do that, sir,” he said.
“You don’t have to call me sir.” My father was sir, not me. “I won’t drug test you. But in exchange for that trust, you have to attend drug counseling sessions three times a week and never, ever show up under the influence. If you miss a meeting or if you show up high, that’s it.”
“Is the session something I can take my kids to?” he asked.
“I need you to trust that I’ll take care of them. I’ll make sure they’re safe while you’re doing this. I’ve done this before. I won’t screw you, or them or anybody over. We’re both taking a leap of faith here. What do you say?”
He looked down at the kids in his lap, their small lips parted as they continued to snore. The barber was gone, and people were beginning to trickle back out onto the street. I wanted him to say yes. All it would take to change his life was for one word, three little letters, to fly from his lips.
“Would it help you to go see the site?” I asked.
“Yes, sir.”
I helped wake up the kids, and we walked to my car, piling them all in. They were all ecstatic like someone was taking them on their first vacation. They pressed their noses to the glass and watched the world roll by while the man sat in the front seat and smiled. I could tell he hadn’t heard their laughter in a long time, and I could’ve sworn I saw a tear run down his face.
I turned onto the construction site where the dirt had already been dug up to begin, and I parked my car before I turned toward the man.
“See that guy over there in the orange hat?” I asked.
“Yep.”
“That’s the foreman. He heads up this site. This place is going to be a little community of mobile homes. They’re setting up everything: plumbing, electric, water filtration. All of it. From the ground up. It will be a project that’ll dedicate you to work for a few months, possibly a year, depending on how many the foreman wants to build.”
“A year’s worth of work?” the man asked.