14
Reyes
When I pulled up in front of Harrison’s home on Tuesday to pick him up for practice, I was more than a little shocked. The red house had a gutter hanging from the roof, a broken banister on the porch, and two overgrown garden beds under the window. Part of the pathway leading up to the door was covered in bushes that looked like they hadn’t been trimmed in months, and the yard was dry despite the hose in the middle with a sprinkler attached at the end. As I made my way up the walk to knock, I noticed a few broken sprinkler heads lying in the grass as well.Well, that explains the hose.
Harrison answered almost as soon as my knuckles hit the wood of the door, grinning wide. “Hi, Coach!”
“Hey, you ready?”
“Yup! Just need to grab my bag,” he said, turning on his heel to bolt down the hall. “Dad! He’s here!”
“I heard. You don’t need to yell.”
Wyatt came from around a corner, approaching the door in a slow, heavy gait. He was just as tired as he’d been the day of the fundraiser, wearing an apron that was clouded with flour. Even his thick hands were covered in remnants of dough.
He noticed me looking and lifted his hands. “Oh, sorry. I was baking.”
Harrison returned with his small duffle bag and bottle of water. “Ready!”
Wyatt patted the boy’s shoulder as he ran by, a small smile finally touching his face despite the sadness in his eyes. He watched Harrison run down the path leading to the driveway and sighed.
“Thank you again,” he said. “Just don’t like thinking of him in the cold.”
“Of course. I don’t mind.” I paused before turning back. “Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, are you having trouble with the sprinklers?”
His eyes, which were partially hidden behind bushy eyebrows, darted out to the yard before looking back at me. “Yeah, I can’t seem to fix the damn things.”
“Have you called anyone?”
He looked down at his hands, rubbing at some dough. “Afraid I can’t pay anyone to do it. I’m on a fixed income, you see. Can’t afford no extra services. I need to get the gutter fixed too, but…” He trailed off.
The way he said it struck a nerve. I might have been a child at the time, but I still remembered what it had been like for our family to survive on minimal income when the restaurant was just getting started. There were many times when needed tasks went months before finally getting addressed. We always just found a way to deal with it. Like the sprinkler attached to a hose.
“I can help,” I said without any hesitation. “I’m free tomorrow if that works for you. I don’t know much about sprinklers, but I’d be happy to give it a try. I can fix that gutter too.”
Wyatt scrutinized me before asking, “Why?”
I shrugged. “Why not? Harrison is a great kid, and anything I can do to help out, I’d be happy to.”
Eventually he gave a reluctant nod. “Okay, sure.”
“Great. See you tomorrow, then.”
Harrison was already buckled in, beaming with excitement, when I got in the car. I noticed he’d even grabbed the booster seat from Wyatt’s car. He looked so small, yet so grown up at the same time. Having a father in his sixties was sure to make his childhood a little different, where he’d had to learn to do things on his own a little faster than other kids, but I suspected that had a lot of advantages too. Learning to be independent was never a bad thing. I wondered, though, if the clinic was his best opportunity to burn off the energy a kid his age had.
“So tell me, Harris. Do you like to play in the dirt?” I asked as I backed out of the driveway.
“Sometimes. Why?”
“Because I’m going to help your dad fix the sprinklers tomorrow and I think I’m going to need an extra pair of hands.”
I saw him sit up a little straighter when I glanced at him in the rearview mirror.
“Think you can help me with that, Sport?”
His smile spread even wider. “Yup!”
About halfway to the clinic, Harrison spoke in a quiet voice from the back seat, “He’s not really my dad.”
