"Because the pond is really, really big and he's just really small."
"That's such a wonderfully thoughtful answer, Tommy. Sometimes big things do feel scary when we're small, don't they? But what does the frog do anyway?"
"He jumps in?"
"He jumps in. Even though he's scared. That's called being brave."
I moved to the railing next, drilling out the rotted screws methodically, finding solid wood a few inches over, sinking new heavy-duty hardware deep into the frame. My world narrowed to the satisfying task at hand: measure, drill, fasten, test. But her voice remained the constant soundtrack through the open window.
"Beautiful reading, Sarah! Listen to how confident you're getting. Your voice is so much stronger."
Sarah's shy, proud laugh drifted out to me. I was glad to hear her voice so full of life.
I tightened the loose storm door latch. Secured a shingle on the porch roof that was starting to lift at one corner. The hour passed not in an agonizing crawl but in a focused, productive blink. The sun climbed higher overhead, warming my back pleasantly. Sawdust dusted my jeans. My hands were dirty and calloused and genuinely useful.
For the first time in recent memory, I felt something like true contentment. Not just the grim satisfaction of hard survival work completed. Something softer and more dangerous. The warmth of the sun, the clear purpose in my hands, the sound of her voice patiently teaching my niece, all of it woven together into something that felt terrifyingly like belonging.
The voices inside rose in animated chatter. Snack break. The front door burst open energetically and three sugar-anticipating kids spilled out onto the newly solid porch, clutching juice boxes and apple slices.
"Hey, the porch doesn't squeak anymore!" Tommy announced loudly, stomping his feet experimentally on various boards.
"Somebody fixed it," Chloe observed.
Sarah spotted my tools arranged neatly on the step and grinned with obvious pride. "Uncle C. fixed it. He fixes everything."
Then Emma stepped outside, a glass of water in her hand. She stopped on the threshold, her eyes taking in the full scene: my organized tools, the small pile of sawdust, and my dusty, disheveled appearance. Her gaze traveled slowly to the railing I was giving one final test shake.
"Did you fix my porch?"
I straightened up, suddenly acutely self-conscious. "The boards were squeaking pretty badly. And the railing was dangerously loose." I shrugged with what I hoped was casual indifference. "Didn't want anyone taking a tumble."
She walked over and gripped the railing firmly, shaking it with real force. It didn't budge even slightly. A smile spread across her face, starting in her eyes, then lighting up her entire expression from within.
"You didn't have to do any of that, Cole."
"It was nothing significant. Just had time to kill."
"Cole." She stepped closer to me. "You reinforced my railing, fixed multiple floorboards, and—" She glanced up toward the roof edge. "Did you touch that roof shingle?"
"It was lifting at the corner. Water would've gotten underneath eventually and caused real damage."
"You fixed my roof while I was teaching reading."
"One single shingle. That hardly counts as fixing a roof."
She laughed softly, the sound warm and genuine. "You're completely unbelievable, you know that?"
"I've been told that before. Usually not intended as a compliment."
"It's definitely a compliment." The afternoon light caught the gold strands in her messy hair, illuminated the light freckles scattered across her nose. We stood close enough that I could smell vanilla and clean laundry and something floral. "Thank you. Seriously. This means a lot."
"You're helping Sarah so much. This is the least I can possibly do in return."
"This is considerably more than 'the least.'" Her voice softened thoughtfully. "Do you ever just sit completely still? Or do you always need something broken to fix?"
"Sitting still makes me twitchy and uncomfortable."
"I've noticed that about you. Always in motion." She tilted her head, studying me with genuine curiosity. "What happens when there's nothing broken around to repair?"
