Page 41 of Vallaverse: Twist
And off we do go. She sets quite a quick pace this afternoon, and by the time we're walking through a nice cheerful park, I've worked up a sweat. Maybe the doctor was right to keep me benched if a short walk is going to be this strenuous.
“Let's go sit on that bench over there by the swings,” Mrs. Richards says brightly.
I follow her and drop down on the navy blue bench beside her. We watch the kids playing for a while before she pats my hand and gestures at the entire park.
“How long do you think it took to build this park? Not the playground, just the general structure.”
I look at all of it. Plants and flowers. Well-planned trees. Benches. A level, paved path. Nice rock structures. Picnic tables scattered strategically. Even a water fountain. “Probably a long time. It depends on what was here before.”
“What do you think was here before?”
I shrug. “I'm not from this area. I don't know. Maybe an abandoned store or a broken down house or two?”
She shakes her head. “It was nothing. There were scrub trees and bushes and trash. Piles of it. A billboard over there,” she waves in the direction of the far corner, “advertising an escort service. It was nothing.”
I nod. “The city wanted to clean it up?”
She laughs. “The city doesn't give a shit about the people who live here. The council and mayor only care about whoever lines their pockets. Kids and parents don't do that. Look over there,” she points to the primary school on the hill a couple of blocks away. “See that school? Do you think the city put a playground and a school in the same neighborhood?”
I shrug, shaking my head. I don't know what a city might do. “Isn't it the city's job to build schools?”
“The city doesn't do more than it has to. Four brick walls and minimal plumbing and electric—that's all. The only differencebetween a school and a titty bar when it comes to the city council is a titty bar gets more funding. That school was funded privately by the same private investor that had the park built.”
“That was nice of them.”
She turns to me and squeezes my hand. “It was nice ofhim. He didn't have to do that. He doesn't have a family, and he never intended to, but he took it upon himself to take care of the people who need taken care of.”
I look back out at the park, the school, the kids, and try to imagine the messy heap that was here before and how much just this park improved the lives of the people in this neighborhood. I didn't have access to a park when I was a kid. I didn't live near a school. I had to walk past the wharf and down a few alleys to get to school. It was dangerous for any kid, but especially a smaller one. A safe path to a decent school could have set me up for a whole different life.
“Do you know who paid for it?”
“Paid for and planned it,” she corrects. “Mr. Lockwood made it happen. These are just two of his projects.”
Brooks. Brooks built this. Brooks, who I have watched end lives so nonchalantly, so callously. Brooks, who once peeled the skin from... Brooks built a playground and a school for kids who don't belong to him.
“Why does he do it?”
She smiles and pats my hand again. “He'd tell you it's atonement, but I'll tell you the truth. He does it for you. Or because of you. Either way, you're the catalyst.”
My breath catches in my suddenly thick throat. “I don't understand.”
“He couldn't fix you, so he fixes everything else. And now, you're fixing yourself. I'm glad you're here, Mr. Williams. He needs someone to make happy. He needs someone to see his effort. He needs someone to love him the way he deserves.”
Chapter Nineteen
Brooks
There are no appointments today. Not one. I didn't plan it that way. I've been making sure to have at least one appointment that takes me out of the house since I brought Laz home. I don't want to crowd him or overwhelm him with my constant presence. If I'm honest with myself, that's only part of it. I don't want to feel like I'm pushing myself on him, which is a different thing. Right alongside that is the fact that I will sit in this house with his scent and the sound of him and dwell over every single thing.
Am I giving him enough room? Am I giving him too much room? Does he even want to be here? That's the big one. He didn't really get a choice in that. I don't think he's had a choice with a lot of things for a long while now, and I just took another one. I don't feel bad about it, either. I'd do it again a hundred times. I just don't want him to feel trapped with me.
Not that I could let him go at this point. Oh, I probablycouldif I had to; I did it before. But I don'twantto. Besides, we havea bond now, so maybe thatcouldisn't as accurate as I think it is. It wouldn't matter anyway. Laz is mine. I won't be letting him go.
None of this solves the mystery of my distinct lack of appointments today. I know I had a meeting with someone this afternoon. I remember seeing it on the weekly summary.
“Mrs. Richards,” I call. Maybe someone canceled something, and she took the call from the house line and just forgot to tell me.
“You'll have to come to me or yell,” she calls back from the kitchen.
