Chapter 26: Assignment: Alder Park
Henry Sloan did not look up right away when Brandt came through the door of the Second Chance Works office. He finished writing on a clipboard, set the pen down in a straight line beside it, and only then lifted his eyes.
"You are early," he said.
"I did not want to be late," Brandt said.
"Good. Sit."
The office was small and plain. A corkboard held crew schedules, safety sheets, and a map of Northbridge parks held up by four pins.
Brandt sat with his hands on his knees.
Sloan opened a thin folder. Brandt's name was on the tab, typed, not handwritten. Inside were his intake forms, his release papers, the agreement he had signed the week before, and a single sheet with his crew assignment in block letters.
Sloan turned that sheet around so Brandt could read it.
ALDER PARK. CLEANUP AND REPAIRS. REPORT 7 A.M. CREW THREE.
Brandt read it twice. The second time was slower.
"You saw where," Sloan said. It was not a question.
"Yes."
"Say it."
"Alder Park."
"Near Fifth and Maple. Hillcrest side. You know it."
Brandt nodded. His throat felt dry. "I know it."
Sloan watched him without surprise and without pity. He was in his late fifties, broad through the shoulders, with gray cut close and hands that looked like they had fixed things for a long time because they had. Brandt knew a little of his story from orientation. Years ago Sloan had served time. Afterward no one would hire him for anything that mattered. Park maintenance had taken him on a trial crew, and he had stayed, season after season, until the trial became a trade and the trade became a life other men leaned on.
"I did not pick that park to punish you," Sloan said. "I want that clear before we go further."
Brandt said nothing.
"I picked it because the work is there. Fence line needs clearing. Graffiti needs covering. Benches need sanding and sealing. The garden beds on the south end need turning before planting. The play area needs a full inspection, bolt by bolt, and the city wants a written list of anything worn, loose, or sharp. It is honest work and it will take weeks."
"I understand."
"Do you?" Sloan leaned back. "Some men hear an assignment like that and think it is a test they can talk their way through. It is not. You will not be giving statements. You will not be posing for anything. You will show up, take instruction, and do the work in front of you until it is done right."
Brandt kept his eyes on the sheet. The letters did not change.
"People will recognize you there," Sloan said. "Some already do around town. A mother at the grocery store. A man at the bus stop. That will happen at the park too, maybe more, because that is where it happened. You do not argue. You do not explain yourself to strangers. If someone is unsafe, you find me. If someone is just angry, you step back, keep your hands visible and your voice down. Can you do that?"
"Yes."
"You sure? Pride has a way of talking first."
Brandt thought of the small room above the hardware store, the damp corner that never quite dried, the jobs that ended at the interview when a manager's face changed.
"I am sure," he said. "I have nowhere else to be proud in."
Something in Sloan's expression eased, not into warmth, but into recognition. "That might be the first useful thing you have said in this office."
He stood and took a set of keys from a hook by the door. He also took a faded green crew vest from a peg and held it out.
"Put this on when you are on site. Gloves are in the truck. Boots you have?"
"Yes."
"Good boots?"
"Good enough."
"We will see." Sloan opened the door and let the morning in. The air smelled of cut grass and diesel. "Crew Three leaves in ten minutes. You ride in the back. You listen more than you speak this week. If I tell you a job is not finished, it is not finished, even if you think it looks fine. We do not leave loose ends for children to find."
Brandt stood and slipped his arms through the vest.
Outside, the two men by the truck glanced at him, then looked away, the way working men do when a new hand is not yet their business. Sloan introduced him by first name only.
"This is Cody. He is with us starting today."
No one offered a hand. No one refused one either. Brandt climbed into the back seat and set his bag at his feet.
As the truck pulled out and turned toward Fifth Street, Sloan, riding up front, spoke without turning around.
"Alder Park," he said. "We start at the fence."
Chapter 27: The Renovated Park