by Lexy Timms
I cursed myself for not taking off my glove as my hand ran up and down the length of her arm.
“I haven’t struggled nearly as much as those men in that building behind me,” she said.
“Suffering is relative,” I said. “You can’t equate one person’s suffering with another.”
I wasn’t going to have an issue with her on this project. Professionally, anyway. My body seemed to be drawn to comforting her, holding her, and touching her in any way I could. That was going to be a distraction. But professionally? No. She was grateful, delighted, even, and supportive of the decisions I’d made on-site with my choice of staff. She was exactly as she appeared on the outside, a caring, sensitive artist who wanted the world to feel exactly the way she did.
Free.
Beautiful.
Alive.
I released her from my grasp, and she looked up at me and giggled. I could’ve sworn I saw a hint of a blush creep across her cheeks, but the moment was soon ruined. One of my men was beckoning me back into the building to help move some old table or something, so I nodded down to Hailey before I put my mask back over my face.
I went back into the building and helped haul the table, opting to simply set it out front instead of tossing it into the dumpster. Knowing Hailey even topically, I knew she’d probably want to do something with it. So, I left it for her to experiment with.
If she didn’t want it, I could always haul it off later.
This arrangement was going to be good for all of us. It would get Drew’s passion for the company off the ground, it would get Hailey’s passion off the ground, and I could continue to delve into my passion for helping the homeless. We got a lot done on that first day. We ripped out all the things that didn’t come up to code with the plumbing and electrical, and we set ourselves up to come back in the morning and fix it all. We stayed on-site until about five thirty and then we all dispersed and went home.
I was happy Hailey stayed with us the entire day, and I couldn’t stop watching her as she crossed the street and ducked into the diner.
Part of me wanted to follow her and sit down and have a milkshake with her. I wanted a bit more time with her without the guys interjecting and asking me questions. But I had to shake that thought from my mind. I had to focus on the project at hand. There was too much riding on this for Drew without me screwing around with whatever emotions this woman seemed to be conjuring.
I needed to find a way to choke them down and fast.
Because all she would do is rain hell down upon my life before I could even blink my eyes.
Chapter 10
Hailey
When the guys ended up tearing all the sheetrock out of the place, I realized there was an entire back room in this place that had been cordoned off for some reason. Just a fun little space that was the perfect size for an easel, a small table, and a stool. I could use it as my own personal painting space, complete with a window that looked out into the small town. I had the ocean in front and the small-town view in the back, which meant I had the best of both worlds. I jumped up and down for joy, throwing my arms around Bryan’s neck as I started brainstorming exactly what I wanted to do with the place.
I told him I wanted enough wiring for one simple overhead light, nothing extravagant, just a light and a switch. He looked it over and told me it could be worked into the budget since there was wiring already there, and I was absolutely ecstatic. I set to the task of cleaning it up and organizing it so the guys could get in here and finish up for the day, excited that the first day of construction work had seen so much done.
I watched as Bryan trained the guys. They took off the sheetrock while another guy trained some of the other men on the plumbing. They were digging up pipes outside, trying to see where they ran while I dusted down this musty back room. I started daydreaming, wondering why someone would randomly corner off a piece of the building like this. I could see the worry on Bryan’s face as he looked over the place, probably trying to answer the same question himself. But, after his thorough investigation was done, we actually found a boarded-up door that had been cordoned off by sheets of wood and painted over.
Probably by people vandalizing the property, Bryan had said.
He theorized it was probably the original storage place. The previous owner, which I figured out was an elderly couple who had opened up a bar here, probably didn’t even understand it existed. They probably built the storage shed I was using now out of necessity, not even knowing there was a perfectly good storage space right here.
But what is someone’s trash can usually be made into my treasure, which meant I had a weather-proofed storage space and an area to form a daytime art studio without encroaching on any of the other space I’d divvied out for my plans.
Yes, the first day of construction work had been a blast.
I went out back after dusting so some guys could get in there to take the sheetrock off. I went over to the storage shed and began organizing paintings. I set the cabin picture aside, a small feeling of dread creeping up my stomach as I ran my fingertips over it. I hated to part with it. Out of all the emotion John poured into his artwork, this one held the most. I could tell it resonated with Bryan, even though he didn’t know who the original artist was, but I didn’t have the heart to refuse him. It was like the painting was seeking out its home, and I knew it would find its home with Bryan.
I didn’t know how angry that would make him in the process.
I was organizing all the paintings by background colors. It was easier for me to sift through things that way. I had a wonderful memory when it came to attaching artists to paintings, so I never had to organize them by who painted them. It was simply easier to categorize them by dominant color. I got less overwhelmed by all the designs and more comforted by how all the pictures seemed to blend together. Like the chaos of the world finally coming into a beautiful sort of order despite the fact that the main subjects were always so different.
Most people wouldn’t put a picture of a sunset and a picture of a tornado in the same category. But, when their main background colors are dark blue and gray, there becomes a sort of poetic beauty in marrying the two subjects together in a dissonant type of harmony.
I was ripped from my reverie by a commotion in the building.
I put the paintings down and locked the door. I stepped back into the building as the commotion escalated into yelling. I saw one of the homeless workers storm out as Bryan pointed his finger toward the door, and I could tell something terrible had happened. The homeless man was crying, kicking equipment and the generator as he left. One of the guys wearing a B.D. Construction shirt put him into the truck and hauled him off, most likely taking him back to the shelter.
And I saw Bryan, nervous, agitated, and running his hands through his hair with his chest trying to take in deep breaths. I could see his hands gripping the tendrils of his hair and the way his legs couldn’t quite stop moving. I looked around the floor for blood, wondering if someone had gotten hurt as Bryan checked all the equipment.
He rounded around the building, checking everything in sight before he went outside to see about the plumbing. I kept my distance, wanting to give him the space he needed before he turned and looked at me. His dark eyes were almost black, stormy even. Like the anger flowing through his veins was about to come pouring out in the fury of the tornado I’d just seen in one of my therapy patient’s paintings.
Then he headed toward me. Step by step, his body began to loom over me, his stature growing taller and taller. As he got closer, I realized he wasn’t angry but merely nervous. His eyes were darting around, and his hands were shoved into his pockets, and I wanted to wrap him in my arms to help him breathe and help him calm and center himself.
He couldn’t be this worked up about something and still operate the type of machinery necessary to continue working.
“I’m sorry you had to witness that,” he said.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I
had to fire one of the workers, but I promise you, I’ll get another one on the premises tomorrow so we aren’t short-staffed.”
I was shocked, I had to admit. This man who wanted to do good was firing people on the first day. Had the man done something wrong? He did have a rule about not coming to the job site on drugs. Had the man been using?
“Was he ...?”
“Yeah. He was high on the site. I am so sorry, Miss Ryan. Out of all the times I’ve employed the homeless community, I’ve only had a handful of moments where something like this has happened, but never has it happened on the first day.”
“Hailey, please. Is there anything we could do for him? You know, to redeem himself?” I asked.
“The agreement I have with them is that they have to attend substance abuse counseling three times a week after work while working with us. They can’t come into work high, and they can’t use drugs on the job site. Those are my only conditions,” he said.
“Well, that makes sense,” I said.
“It’s dangerous for them,” he said. “To be on the job site high. They could injure themselves, injure someone else, get someone killed, or ruin a project, though that’s the least of my worries. Anything can be fixed, in my opinion. But they put people’s lives at risk, and I can’t have that. It’s beyond dangerous. It’s reckless. That’s the downside to what I do.”
“What you do,” I said.
“Yes. You want to help, but when you lay down rules and they agree to them, you have to stick by them. Sometimes, you want to send them home and give them a second chance to come back. But with these guys in here, I can’t take that chance. They have families. Children. Hell, some of the other homeless people I’ve hired have the same thing, whole families on the street who still depend on them somehow.”
“Right,” I said.
“Even something as simple as hammer usage could become disastrous with someone who’s high on the job. I saw a completely sober, professional man slam a hammer so hard and lose his grip that he drove the claw of the hammer into the top of his foot,” he said.
“Whoa.”
“Lost his entire foot that day. And he was sober. And knew what he was doing,” he said.
“Then if he broke those conditions and there isn’t anything else that can be done, you did all you could,” I said.
I could see the shock that rolled over his face, and I wasn’t sure why he was. I mean, he laid down rules that needed to be executed for safety purposes. It’s why I briefed my art therapy students on the toxicity of some of my paints. I tried to use nontoxic whenever I could, but the more vibrant and rare colors were made with things we shouldn’t be ingesting. I had to be upfront about that kind of stuff, and I had a time or two where I caught someone trying to do something stupid on my watch and had to kindly escort them off the premises.
It was just what people like us had to do sometimes. It was those moments where you realized you couldn’t help someone, no matter the opportunity you gave them. It wasn’t personal, but it was simply reality.
That’s the way it was, no matter how much it could hurt.
“You get it?” he asked.
“Of course I do. You think I haven’t had to put an art therapy student in their place from time to time?”
The dubious expression on his face told me everything I needed to know, and I was a little insulted.
“I expected you to be disgusted by me yelling at someone like that. I figured you’d probably fire us all on the spot or something,” he said.
“Do you really think I’m that kind of person?” I asked.
“Half of the nervousness and frustration I was feeling was that I thought that man had cost me this opportunity, to be honest.”
“Mr. McBride, I’m not sure what kind of person you think I am, especially given the conversations we’ve had, but that isn’t the case at all,” I said.
“I didn’t mean to offend you or anything,” he said.
“I’m a bit insulted, yes. I try to always see the good in people, try to understand, and give people the benefit of the doubt. I didn’t only hire you because you gave me a good deal. I hired you because our values line up and because I trust your judgment. I trust where you draw the lines with your business.”
“You do,” he said.
“Yep,” I said, grinning.
“If you’re upset, why are you smiling?”
“Because it’s also kind of amusing. You're a pretty big guy, and I think you’re a bit more emotionally invested than you think,” I said.
“How so?” he asked.
“Look at you. With your tattoos and your muscles and your six-foot-whatever stature. I’m five-foot-four on a good day, with hair colors that change every few months and clothes that perpetually don’t match. And you were scared of me, that I’d pull this project from beneath you. You like my art gallery,” I said, smirking.
“It is going to help us further our commercial property branch of our company, yes,” he said.
“You really like my art gallery,” I said, smiling.
“I told you when we first met I do enjoy art.”
“You really, really like my art gallery,” I said, winking. “Look, I always try to see the good in people, but I’m not naïve. You can’t save everyone. It was a ...”
I paused and drew in a deep breath. It was the hardest lesson I’d ever had to learn. I’d started my art journey thinking I could save the world, and the first time I realized I couldn’t had almost knocked the wind from my sails and caused me to abandon my art altogether.
“It was a hard lesson to choke down, but I did,” I said.
“I’m sorry. For however you had to learn it,” he said.
“Either way, I’m not firing you. What happened took place because you set clear lines and someone didn’t respect them. I’m still comfortable with the arrangement if you are, and I trust you.”
“You trust me,” he said.
“I trust you, Bryan.”
I looked up at him, and his dark eyes seemed to settle back into place. I drew in a deep breath through my nose and crossed my arms over my chest, but I could tell he was studying me. He was still on guard, had some sort of shield up that was preventing me from getting any closer. I honestly wasn’t sure why I wanted to be closer.
All I did know was that I didn’t enjoy the barrier he was throwing up.
“You hardly even know me,” he said.
He was right, and it did worry me. I knew when I said I trusted him, it wasn’t just on the project. I felt safe with him and comfortable like I was being heard and supported throughout my endeavors.
Construction workers weren’t supposed to make people feel like that, right?
“I’ve got a good sense for people,” I said, grinning.
“I would say I did, except for what happened just now,” he said.
“Like you said, it’s only happened a handful of times. How many years have you been in operation?”
“Eight,” he said.
“In eight years, employing the homeless community on your job sites, and you’ve only had a handful of incidents? I’d say that’s a pretty keen nose for sniffing out people.”
“Well, when you put it that way.”
“Now, get back to work before something else goes wrong,” I said. “I’d hate for someone to get hurt because you guys are a man down.”
“I’d hate that too,” he said.
I watched him walk back into the building, and I couldn’t help but look him over. That man was going to be in some serious trouble when my sister came into town. Anyone could see he was a good-looking man with his broad shoulders and his tapered waist. But deep within that strong chest, there was a good heart of a man who wanted to help the community as much as he could and who was spurred on by the loss of someone he loved to make a difference and hopefully drive lost souls back into the arms of their loved ones.
Inside the strong body that lifted these electric drills and saws like they were
nothing, there was a man who was hurting and who wanted to express himself.
He was still waiting to be found.
I leaned up against the doorway and watched them work. They all took shifts breaking for lunch, pressing on with work while the others bought the homeless men their first lunch on the job. I smiled at the exchange as they all crossed the street, slipping into the diner and coming out with full bellies and grins on their faces.
What Bryan was doing with his own community was astounding. He was bringing a bit of hope and beauty back into their world. A world they thought had chewed them up, spit them out, and forgotten about them.
I wanted to take a page out of his book and do the same with my gallery. I just hoped I could shovel my guilt away long enough to make it happen.
Chapter 11
Bryan
I was trying to stomach dinner with my family this evening. The art gallery project was going fairly well. We had the electrical and plumbing finally up and running, which meant we were already in the process of restoring the outside of the building. Hailey’s visions for the place left me a blank canvas for the outside, so I had mock-ups of colors and designs running through my head. It kept me distracted from the uncomfortable silence that had descended the opulent dinner table at my parents’ house, but I knew it wouldn’t last for long.
I tried to have dinner with them every couple of weeks to try and do the whole family thing. It kept me from feeling guilty that we couldn’t make our family work. It reminded me of why the family fell apart in the first place. I had a tendency to blame myself for not being able to keep everyone together.
Even though they pissed me off, they were still my family, the people who had brought me into this world and raised me. I still had fleeting hopes that I could repair the damage done and that we could all enjoy one another again. It wasn’t that we didn’t love each other. We were all just so strained. We had all been affected by the death of my brother, and I couldn’t wrap my head around why my parents reacted the way they did. I still valued them as family, and I still wanted a relationship with them, but I didn’t understand how they could write him off like that.
