We enter the living room, and I immediately spot Zac sitting on the floor beside the coffee table, an art book lyingopen on top, with coloured markers scattered across its pages. He’s watching a kids movie on TV, so completely engrossed that he doesn’t even notice me walking into the room.
“Hey, mate.”
His head whips around, eyes landing on me instantly. He’s on his feet in a flash, and before I can even register what’s happening, he rushes towards me and wraps me in a tight, full-bodied hug. I’m so caught off guard that when I glance at his mum, she’s just watching us with a genuine smile. Unsure what to do, I give him a couple of gentle pats on the back. A few seconds later, he peels himself away.
“Hi, Kaden,” he says.
“Are you ready to make the best model house your school has ever seen?”
He nods enthusiastically. “Yeah! I’m ready,” he replies, as he saunters back to the spot on the floor he was just sitting on.
I sink onto the floor across from him, gently placing the bag beside me.
“I’ll let you boys get to work. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything,” Hope says, leaning on the doorframe, hands clasped lightly in front of her.
I smile and thank her while Zac simply nods, and then she’s gone. She’s still able to see and hear us through the open doorway, and I get a good view of her at the island counter chopping something. Our eyes connect briefly, and even from this far, I can still make out her pale blue orbs, bright and clear.
When I look back at Zac, he’s edged closer to the bag, sneaking a peek at what’s inside.
“What did you bring?” he asks, curiously.
I open the bag a little more so he can get a better look, but leave everything inside, not wanting to make a mess on the floorboards.
“Hopefully enough supplies to build your house.”
I run through the contents of the bag—cut-off pieces of wood, twigs, and pebbles; recycled boxes and bottles; scraps of paper; a glue gun and twine; and even a couple of egg cartons. I wasn’t sure what he already had or what was okay to use, so I just grabbed whatever I had lying around the apartment and the garden outside.
He seems pleased with the items, judging from the wide smile stretching across his face. “My mum saved some cereal boxes, paper towel rolls, and pop sticks for us, so we have plenty of stuff to use.”
I nod. “So, what exactly is this project?”
“It’s a sustainability project for National Landcare Week, which just passed. It’s a competition for Year 3 students, and we have to make a model house using only natural or recycled materials,” he explains.
“What do you get if you win?”
“A one-hundred-dollar gift card and a free day pass to the Wildlife Park. The winner also gets to have their model house displayed at the school for a whole year until the next competition.”
“That’s awesome! Well, I guess we better get started, if you want the winning title. Have you got a rough idea of how you want the house to look like?”
He hands me his art book, placing it on the ground between us. As he flips through the pages, I see sketch after sketch of different house designs—some filled with colour, others not. They’re actually really good for something a nine-year-old drew, and I can’t help but admire the thought and attention he’s put into each one.
“These are fantastic, Zac! You have quite a remarkable talent, young man. Has your mum seen these?”
He nods, then turns to the second sketch: an L-shaped cabin-style house with a chimney and large, towering trees surrounding it. He taps the page and says, “This one is her favourite.”
I can see why. The drawing has a little more detail than the others, and it looks quaint and charming. The colours he’s used only add to its appeal.
“I really like all your sketches, but if I had to choose, this one would be my favourite too,” I say, lightly tracing the house’s outline with my finger.
“Okay, let’s do this one, then.”
We spend several minutes sorting through and organising the materials on the floor that we’ll use for the model, Zac eagerly adding his acrylic paints to the pile for the finishing touches. As we’re organising the items on the floor, Hope walks back in the room carrying a small tray of drinks.
“I made fresh lemonade,” she says, setting them carefully on the coffee table.
Zac and I reach for the glasses at the same time, gulping it down in large sips as if we just survived a full day of hard labour on a construction site.
“Delicious and refreshing,” I tell Hope, and she gives me one of those soft, warm smiles that make my chest tighten for reasons I don’t want to examine too closely.
