Page 30 of Run Omega Run
"Because this is what communities do," one of the volunteers said, a weathered man with calloused hands and a tan that came from years of outdoor work. "We look after each other, especially when children are involved."
Another volunteer, younger but carrying tools that looked expensive and well-maintained, nodded his agreement. "Bennett explained the situation. Building of this size, of this age, with structural damage from the earthquake... it's not safe to leave repairs undone through another winter season."
The third man was already examining the crack that ran along the wall, running his hands along the damaged stone with the practiced attention of someone who understood what he was seeing. "This is definitely fixable," he said, looking up at me with reassuring confidence. "Foundation work, some basic carpentry, weatherproofing the roof... it’s nothing that can't be handled in a few days with enough hands."
I felt overwhelmed by the generosity, but also deeply uncomfortable with the implications. These were skilled tradesmen offering professional services that would normally cost thousands of dollars, and they were presenting it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"I appreciate the offer," I said carefully, trying to find words that wouldn't offend while still maintaining some semblance of the independence I'd fought so hard to preserve. "But I can't accept charity. The children and I, we've always managed on our own, and—"
"Then don't accept charity," Bennett interrupted, his dark eyes meeting mine with understanding. "Work alongside us. These repairs need doing, and they need multiple people to dothem safely and efficiently. We could use someone who knows the building, knows where the problems are worst, knows how things have been patched before."
The suggestion hit me like relief flooding through a broken dam. Working alongside them, and contributing my time, labor, and knowledge, felt possible in ways that easily accepting help hadn't.
“Yes,” I said, “I’d love to help!” A smile formed on my features. “I know every crack in these walls," I paused. "Every place where weather gets in, every board that's loose, every corner where the foundation has shifted.”
"Then we need you," one volunteer said simply.
Before I could respond, the sound of running feet announced that the children had finally overcome their curiosity and initial wariness. They poured out of the kitchen like a small army, their excitement bubbling over in ways that transformed the entire atmosphere from serious adult consultation to something that felt more like a festival preparation.
"Are you really going to fix us?" Loubie Lou asked, her one-eared rabbit clutched against her chest as she stared up at the volunteers with eyes wide enough to hold the entire world.
"Can we help?" Manny wanted to know, his damaged truck tucked under one arm while he examined the tools. Macey jumped up and down eager to assist.
"Of course you can help," the weathered volunteer said, crouching down to bring himself closer to their eye level. "Building work needs many hands, and some of the most important jobs are perfect for people your size."
"Like what?" Dylan asked, bouncing lightly with anticipation.
"Like holding tools when we need them, or carrying small supplies from one place to another, or telling us when something doesn't look right," another volunteer explained. "Childrennotice things adults miss because they see everything from different angles."
The excitement that rippled through them was infectious. I watched their faces light up with the possibility of contributing something meaningful to the place they'd learned to call home, of being useful participants rather than passive recipients of adult decisions.
"We're good helpers," Loubie Lou announced with the serious confidence of a child who'd learned early that being helpful was one of the best ways to earn approval and affection.
"The best helpers," I agreed, and smiled despite all the complicated emotions churning through my chest.
Chapter 13
Heather
By mid-morning, I found myself perched on our slanted roof beside Bennett, passing him shingles with hands that had already acquired the ache of unfamiliar work. The view from up here revealed the scope of the damage I'd been trying to ignore. There were missing tiles, gaps where weather had gotten in, and patches where previous repairs had failed under the assault of too many seasons without proper maintenance.
Bennett worked with methodical precision, his movements sure as he positioned each shingle and secured it in place. Every few minutes, our hands would brush as I passed him materials, sending slight shocks of awareness up my arm that made it difficult to focus on the work at hand.
“Is this what you do for work?” I asked him.
