Chapter 4 - A Business With Dirty Knees
Mrs. Alvarez's furnace needed a new blower motor. I met the technician at the duplex while Owen sat at the kitchen table drawing spaceships on scrap paper.
Mrs. Alvarez was sixty-eight and lived on a fixed income. She was embarrassed to keep calling because she'd already reported a loose stair rail in September. I told her to call every time something needed attention. That was why I kept a repair line open.
She looked at Owen. "He comes to work with you?"
"Sometimes. His spaceship inspections are very thorough."
Owen offered her a purple drawing. She taped it beside her grocery list.
A year earlier I'd missed Sophie's school assembly because a water heater split at another property. I'd told everyone the repair was urgent, which was true. I'd also been afraid to delegate a job I knew how to handle. Rachel had watched Sophie scan the audience for me while I stood ankle-deep in water.
I didn't want to repeat that mistake.
So I called my reliable maintenance coordinator, Luis Ortega, and asked whether he'd consider a monthly retainer for routine dispatch work. Luis already worked for several small landlords and knew my standards. He wanted time to price the arrangement.
At home I found Rachel reviewing her work calendar. She had a Saturday shift she'd forgotten about, and Patricia was offering to watch Owen and Sophie.
"That's not happening," I said too quickly.
Rachel looked stung. "I wasn't agreeing. I was looking for options."
We were short on backup care. My mother lived in another state. Rachel's coworkers had families of their own. Patricia's help had often been convenient, and every favor came with a small invoice of judgment.
"I'll take them," I said. "I can work around it."
"That's what you always say. And then something breaks, and you're doing three jobs at once."
She was right. I resented Patricia for belittling my work while quietly believing no one else could do it correctly.
That night, I sent Luis the list of recurring maintenance tasks and drafted a real family backup plan with Rachel. Not glamorous. Necessary.
Just before bedtime, Patricia called Sophie directly on the kids' shared tablet. I heard her voice from the hall.
"Wouldn't it be nice if Daddy got a normal job, so Mommy could rest?"
Sophie answered, "Mommy likes her job."
I took the tablet and ended the call after telling Patricia we would talk another time. Sophie stared at me as if I'd broken a rule.
May you like
I realized the boundary I'd promised existed only when Patricia was standing in our house.
