“Sounds good.” Fuck knew I’d done plenty of manual labor over the years for foster parents who had “foster kid” confused with “slave labor.” It’d be nice to earn some cash in exchange for breaking my back.
“It’s a little bit of a walk off the bus line,” Dex added. “Nothing you can’t handle.”
I doubted the home was going to hand over a bus pass and be cool about the job. Things were never that easy for me. But I didn’t want to sound anything less than enthusiastic with Dex. My counselor was right, at some point I needed to start thinking about what the hell to do with myself once I aged out of foster care. I’d convince them to let me accept this arrangement.
One thing I knew for damn sure, stipend or not, I’d need money. For some reason, Dex seemed determined to help me. I’d be an idiot to piss him off by saying no.
“Thank you, Dex.”
He gave me the information and I scribbled it down. Shit, a job would mean a lot less time for sneaking around with Juliet after school. Unless she was able to get hired too. Maybe if I was already working there and the owner liked me, I could give her some sort of edge. Or maybe once I proved myself, I’d ask Dex if he’d put in a good word for Juliet.
We said goodbye and I hung up feeling more hopeful about the future.
The “lead” turned out to be a sure thing. The owner of the place, another biker who went by the name of Ulfric, hired me on the spot.
“Dex’s word is good enough for me,” he’d said.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. If I fucked up, it would make Dex look bad. Then I’d have to deal with not one, but two pissed-off bikers.
“Set your own hours. Just get this cleaned up by opening day,” Ulfric said in his gruff no-bullshit way. Not that he was rude, he just never seemed to use more words than absolutely necessary.
We walked the property and he showed me the spots where fallen trees needed to be cut and hauled away. Grass and leaves needed mowing and bagging. The fence surrounding the place needed to be repaired, potholes in the dirt road needed filling in. A lot of labor. But I formulated a plan for how to tackle each task. Every day after school, I hauled my ass out there and worked the solid four hours the home allowed.
The counselors were so impressed with my work ethic, they even arranged a schedule to pick me up at the end of my shifts. Of all my years in foster care, this was the first time my life didn’t feel like a clusterfuck of chaos and frustration.
Ulfric worked me hard. But at least he had the right equipment for all the jobs he wanted done. If I needed something he didn’t have, he bought it right away. He taught me how to use a bunch of different tools and how to fix shit when it broke. Anytime I was able to pick up a new skill, I was happy.
This new, tighter schedule didn’t allow me much time with Juliet. We still met every morning. In the afternoons, I’d walk her home before jumping on the bus.
“I miss you,” she said as we passed Mrs. Shields’ house one afternoon.
“Miss you too, butterfly, but—”
“No, I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I’m really proud of you.” The corners of her mouth curled up. “Maybe a little jealous.”
“Ulfric’s going to be hiring for the ice cream shop out front in a few weeks. I’ll get you an application.”
“That would be perfect. We can spend all summer working together.”
“Juliet!” Mrs. Shields called. “Roman!”
I smiled and waved as Juliet and I headed up the driveway.
“How are you, Mrs. Shields?” I asked.
“Good!” She focused on Juliet. “I wanted to talk to you, dear. I’m going to go visit some friends for a couple weeks and wanted to know if you’d watch the house for me?”
“Oh.” Juliet glanced at me. “Sure. I can do that.”
“You can stay here. I’ll make up the guest room for you and you can use my car.”
“Oh no. I don’t need…You don’t have to do that.”
“Please, dear? I’d feel much better if someone I trust is here watching the place. And your aunt and uncle aren’t far if you need anything.” An edge crept into her voice, surprising, since Mrs. Shields was generally such a pleasant woman. Maybe she knew how useless Juliet’s guardians were.
“You have your license, right?” she insisted.
“Well, yes.”
“So, there you go!” Mrs. Shields ushered us into the house and pressed a set of keys into Juliet’s hands. “There is some food here, but I’ll leave you grocery money on the counter.”
“Mrs. Shields—-”