But inside, it was a mess. Not unkept, just an old mobile home that was decaying around them. It was better than my last place had been, though. It was also hot. The September heat leaked in from just about everywhere, and the window units had been turned off to save a little money. Zeke mumbled something about being sorry, then hurried over to turn them all on.
"It reminds me of where you used to live, Dad," Faith said.
"Yeah, it does," I agreed, moving toward the front door to check out the damage.
I damned well hoped I could fix it. The piece of plywood nailed over the opening wasn't close to being airtight. I had a feeling there would be bugs in here at night. That was the downside of trying to lease a place in the middle of nowhere like this. New homes got sold, anything with land got sold, and the stuff that got leased was usually falling apart.
Thankfully, when I looked at the broken doorknob, it seemed to be an easy fix. Well, not for someone who didn't have the time or knowledge, but I did. I just had to see if the extra one would fit, and then I could pick up a decent one the next time I was in town. If nothing else, it would make sure that Emily and Zeke could get out if there was ever a fire.
"Ok, what do I have to work with?" I asked the boy.
He led me down the hall that went to the smaller bedrooms. This place was set up a lot like my old one, which meant that the first door was a storage closet. The next was a very tiny bedroom. Beyond that was a bathroom and then the open door that clearly led to Zeke's room. At least the old school Metallica poster on the wall made me think it had to be Zeke's.
"No one uses this," Zeke told me, pointing at the door to the smallest bedroom.
I opened it up and checked the size. Sure enough, it'd work. No, it wasn't perfect, and these old 1980s style mobiles had nothing but plastic inside, but it'd work for a bit. I could fix this, and it wouldn't take more than a few minutes.
"Faith?" I called back. "I need that blue-handled Phillips screwdriver."
"On it," she promised.
Zeke chuckled. "Trying to make a tomboy out of her or something?"
"Faith?" I asked. "No, she'll never be a tomboy. Doesn't mean she can't learn how to take care of herself, though. When she starts driving, I'll teach her how to change a flat and her own oil too. Just in case. Don't care if she has someone else do it, but if no one else is around, I don't want her to be stuck just because she's a girl."
"Why are you so cool?" Zeke asked.
"Trust me, I'm not," I assured him just as Faith came trotting up with the screwdriver.
"This one, Dad?"
"That's the one," I agreed, taking it so I could get the knob off. "Wanna learn, Zeke?"
He moved a little closer beside me. "Think I can?"
"Why not?" I asked.
The boy shrugged. "Cuz I'm not good at this stuff."
"That can be fixed," I promised. "Look..." And I proceeded to show him how the knob worked.
When Faith hovered over his shoulder, I shifted so she could see as well. Together, the three of us took all the pieces apart. I let the kids help with half of it, making sure none of the bits were lost, and then we carried it all to the front. There, I passed the screwdriver to Zeke and told him to put it back together. I also talked the boy through it.
Eventually, it was all done. I made a few adjustments so the striker would line up with the plate, and then we tested it. Sure enough, the door latched and opened when the knob was turned. With a big smile, I rubbed Faith's shoulder, then mussed up Zeke's hair.
"Good job, you two. Now, we can take the plywood off, and you can use the door, but it doesn't have a key. Means you'll need to lock it from the inside and still come in through the back, but I'll pick up a new knob the next time I'm in town."
"Really?" Zeke asked.
I shrugged. "Sure. They're cheap. Hard part is putting one in. Bet your mom would be pretty proud to see what you've done."
"Yeah," he breathed. "Thanks, Luke. I can get the plywood off. I mean, I put it on."
"You need help?" I asked, pulling out a bigger screwdriver from my toolbox.
The boy smiled, nodded, and then the three of us worked the nails free, but Zeke moved the plywood over to the side of the rickety front porch. He also looked a little proud of himself. Gathering up the last of my tools, I made sure he was going to be ok, then herded Faith back to the truck.
I'd barely made it out of sight from the boy's house before she turned to me. "Thanks for helping him, Dad."
