“Love you, Hailey. Everything’s going to be all right.”
“Love you, too, Anna. And I really hope so.”
The phone call ended, and I dropped my phone to the floor. My mind circled back to Bryan, wondering what in the world he was up to. Had he been at home? Did he already get the painting? Did it bring a smile to his face? Maybe make him cry? I gazed out the window at the night-draped city of San Diego, watching as the few stars I could see twinkled in the far distance. Fall was slowly beginning to descend on the coast, pushing out the tourists and making way for the slow burn of the holidays. I closed my eyes and settled deep into my couch, still unable to sleep in my bed after everything that had happened.
I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath, still able to smell the faintest scent of his cologne as tears lined the back of my eyelids.
I missed him more than I could stand, and I hurt him more than I could imagine.
I wanted to keep convincing myself he would come back to me, but as I drifted off into sleep and allowed my body to relax, a small voice in my head fluttered to the forefront of my mind.
He’s never coming back to you, you lying little girl.
I woke up with tears on my pillow I didn’t remember crying, all the while wishing he was right next to me.
Chapter 3
Bryan
October had finally hit the city, and already I could see the Halloween decorations flying up. Men were drawing pumpkin faces on our orange cones with washable markers while the temporary foreman’s offices on our sites had cobwebs strung up from the ceilings. I had to admit, some of them gave me a good laugh. The stickers and the banners that some of the construction crews bought and put up helped put me in the mood for the fall holidays that were approaching quickly.
I was done wallowing in my own self-pity. The time Drew made me take off from work had been enough, and I was glad to be back out at the work sites. The foreman of our most prominent site yet had nothing but good things to say about the homeless man I’d employed for the job. He was keeping up with his drug counseling sessions and had just opened his own bank account. I stood around for a little while and watched as one of our crew members taught him how to use some of the power tools at his disposal.
It felt great to be back out and working again.
I hopped back into my truck and headed to another site. There was a homeless woman I’d found with a child she was trying to provide for. I had asked her a few days ago if she was up for work that required manual labor, and that’s when I got to chatting with her. Before she lost everything in a fire that ravaged her home, she’d worked as a part-time florist while going around to elderly people’s homes and fixing their broken things for whatever they could afford to pay her. I gave her the same stipulations I did everyone else. If she was on drugs, she had to attend counseling sessions and couldn’t ever show up to the worksite high.
She had agreed to my rules, I helped her enroll her child in a daycare I’d cut a deal with, and I got her started on that site.
It required odd jobs at first. Clearing away the sites and making sure the ground was flat before they could start laying piping for the plumbing work. I watched as she hauled wheelbarrows of stuff over to the massive dumpster we’d rented for the site, not once complaining about the pain I knew she must’ve been in. I could see her wincing with the manual labor and working her hardest to cover it up, but I pulled the foreman of the job site over and talked with him anyway.
“How’s she doin’?” I asked.
“She’s a hell of a woman. Informed us she can paint walls and install and fix just about any appliance you could find in a home. She’s gonna be very useful when these houses get thrown up,” he said.
“Treat her the same way you would any other man. Give her the tools to do the job, coach her when she has questions, and don’t assume she can’t do anything,” I said.
“Wasn’t plannin’ on it, boss. Though I have to say, I see her wincing every once in a while. I’ve been hesitant to ask her about it. I don’t want her thinkin’ I think she’s weak ‘cause she’s a woman, but I’m worried she’s straining something she shouldn’t be.”
“I see that, too. If it continues throughout the day, just ask her. Tell her she’s an employee pulling a regular paycheck and that getting hurt doesn’t affect her job here. We have to formally document it so we can take care of her. I trust your judgment with whatever she tells you,” I said.
“I’ll leave you a memo at your office with what she tells me,” he said.
“Good.”
As far as I could tell, she was happy. I saw her wince once more before I left, but the guys seemed to rally around her and really help. I could tell a couple of them were impressed by the sheer amount of shit she was able to haul in those wheelbarrows, and when I finally pulled out of the parking lot, she was laughing with some of them.
It brought my heart a great deal of joy to see her assimilating so well.
I got a call from another foreman on a project across town. He was telling me the homeless man I’d employed for that job site came in ranting and raving about how he’d finally been able to move into a nice little studio apartment. The homeless man got on the phone and thanked me profusely for the job, stating that had it not been for me, none of this would’ve been possible.
For the first time in over a month, joy welled in my chest as a smile crossed my face.
“I’m glad I could help,” I said. “Is it a nice apartment?”
“Real nice. Got these hardwood floors that are all shining and stuff. It’s enough for me, and I went on my first grocery shopping trip in five years last night. Five years. Thank you, Mr. McBride. Thank you so much.”
“You just keep working hard. After this site’s done, you take your work history with us, and you start applying for jobs. I’ll write you a reference and put in a good word for you,” I said.