Part 9
Nolan watched Gusset release the toy and attack the chair leg’s problem from the other side.
“He’s got a lot to report,” he said.
“Mateo’s awake this afternoon. Talking a little. Would you come?”
Nolan looked at the job listings on the table, then at the dog.
“I’ll be there.”
At the hospital, Teresa met him outside the room. Nolan wore his old field jacket, his tags tucked beneath his shirt. He’d spent the earlier part of the day walking Gusset, making lunch, and sitting on the porch without searching for something to repair.
“He’s tired,” Teresa whispered. “But he knows you’re coming.”
Nolan paused at the doorway.
For weeks, he’d known Mateo through photographs, handwriting, and the things other people said about him. He wasn’t sure why the prospect of an ordinary conversation made him so nervous.
Teresa touched his elbow and led him in.
Mateo lay propped against pillows. His eyes followed his sister.
“Finally,” he murmured.
She checked her watch. “Three minutes. You’ve become demanding.”
A small smile crossed his face.
“This is Nolan.”
Nolan came to the bedside. Mateo lifted his hand a few inches, and Nolan took it gently.
“Good to meet you properly.”
“Thank you,” Mateo said.
“Your sister’s the one you should thank.”
“Oh, don’t start,” Teresa said. “I’m too tired to referee.”
Mateo chuckled, then rested back. Nolan brought out his phone.
“I made this for you.”
In the video, Gusset had hold of the helmet strap. He dragged the yellow shell across the rug toward Nolan’s chair, backed onto its edge, and abruptly sat down. He looked around, recovered his dignity, and resumed hauling.
Teresa laughed first.
Mateo watched without moving. Then his mouth softened, and a faint laugh came from his chest.
“Destello.”
Nolan turned the screen so he could see better.
“I didn’t know what to call him. He’s been Gusset at my place.”
Mateo looked at him with amusement.
“Welding term,” Nolan said. “Helps a connection hold.”
Mateo considered it, then glanced at his sister.
“One name wasn’t enough for him.”
“No,” Nolan said, laughing. “Probably not.”
After the video ended, Mateo reached for his hand again.
“Thank you for him,” he said.
“He’s safe.”
Mateo’s eyes moved to Teresa. He took a breath before continuing.
“And for being here with her.”
Teresa looked toward the window and wiped her cheek.
For once, when Nolan thought of Pat, the radio wasn’t the first thing he heard. He remembered laughter over spilled coffee and a little girl’s cap in a photograph.
Nolan squeezed Mateo’s hand.
“Nobody’s erasing you,” he said.
Mateo closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he looked at the puppy’s photograph beside the bed.
“How is he?”
“Healthy. Impatient. Waiting to see you.”
Nolan replayed the video. Gusset sat down in the helmet again, and this time Mateo’s laugh was strong enough to bring a nurse to the doorway.
By early April, the helmet had a place on Nolan’s living room shelf. Gusset could no longer fit inside it. He’d become a long-legged adolescent who still misjudged how much room his feet needed. The pale tuft beneath his chin remained, and his left ear continued folding forward whenever he concentrated.
He knew how to sit, wait, and come when called. He also knew where Nolan kept his slippers, knowledge he used every morning.
Nearly five months had passed since the construction site. Leaves were opening on the tree outside, and Nolan had begun leaving the windows cracked while he worked at the kitchen table.
There were lessons to prepare now.
He’d taken a part-time job at a community vocational program, teaching welding. Instead of taking every overnight assignment he could get, he demonstrated equipment checks, surface preparation, and the small adjustments that made a weld dependable.
He discovered that explaining something well could be satisfying. He also discovered the limits of his patience when a student asked whether a welding helmet would protect a person from a dropped lunch.
Nolan stared at him for several seconds.
“Depends how heavy you packed.”
The class laughed. Nolan did, too.
Outside the classroom, the investigations continued. Workplace safety authorities had documented violations involving training, equipment oversight, and required procedures. Corrective measures and administrative penalties followed. Evidence of falsified records and possible misconduct was referred to the appropriate authorities.
Adrian and several other management figures faced formal allegations. Those still had to be tested. The city employee connected with questionable confirmations remained suspended during a separate inquiry. The overlapping contractor arrangements were being examined to determine who had directed the work and held responsibility.
Some workers were still waiting for compensation. Leonard’s old bills had not all been resolved. Joanna continued to explain that progress could come without every claim being finished.
One afternoon, Frank called while Nolan was preparing a lesson.
“We had a safety meeting,” he said. “You should’ve heard Owen. Asked so many questions the fellow running it needed a refill before he could finish.”
“Did they answer him?”
“Most of them. Wrote down the ones they couldn’t.”
Nolan leaned against the counter.
“Leonard came,” Frank added. “Brought the shoebox.”
“Still?”
“Says it can retire when the last form does.”
They laughed, and Frank grew quiet.
“People actually stayed to listen, Nolan.”
After the call, Nolan returned to his notes. Beneath the table, Gusset slept with a stolen slipper pinned under his chest.
At the workshop the next morning, a student waited until the equipment was shut down and the stations were being cleaned.
“What’s the biggest thing you’ve learned doing this?”
Nolan looked around at the tools, the protective clothing, the young people who would soon take jobs where somebody else set the pace.
“Learn when to stop.”
The student frowned slightly.
“If a setup’s unsafe, finishing faster doesn’t fix it. You stop. You ask. The person working beside you needs to get home.”
The young man wrote it in his notebook. Nolan turned to check a cylinder cap before the student could see his face.
Mateo’s recovery had its own pace. Some days he made visible gains; other days left him angry and exhausted. He progressed to walking short distances with a cane, continued structured rehabilitation, and learned to measure an afternoon by what he could manage rather than what he used to do.
Teresa celebrated improvements he barely noticed.
The first time he made breakfast for himself, he sent Nolan a photograph of eggs beside a blackened piece of toast.
Nolan replied that the stove should request a second opinion.
A few minutes later, Mateo sent a picture of the empty plate.
“Still alive.”
Nolan laughed loudly enough that Gusset came running.
Financial assistance eased some immediate pressure while responsibility and compensation claims remained under review. Teresa still worked with Joanna, but some evenings she could attend her accounting classes instead of spending every hour on calls.
Mateo wanted to visit their mother in Guatemala when his doctors said he was ready. He and Teresa discussed the trip over dinner, choosing dates they might be able to aim for rather than signing a plan someone else had made.
Curtis had lost his foreman’s position. His cooperation was considered, but the inaccurate statements he’d signed did not disappear because he later supplied documents. He accepted responsibility for his role in the reporting.
Months later, he began speaking in a workplace safety education program. He described the forms he’d signed, the questions he’d failed to ask, and the way fear over medical bills and employment had shaped his decisions. He did not ask the supervisors listening to treat those fears as an excuse.
Frank told Nolan about the program.
“Think you’ll forgive him?”
Nolan considered it. “Can’t promise that.”
“No.”
“I hope he keeps talking.”
Frank agreed and changed the subject to the next safety meeting…
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