Maven waved it off. "It's alright, old man. I should go."
The old man tilted his head. "What's your name?"
"I'm Maven," he replied.
The man gave a warm smile. "I'm Shem. Come visit me sometime, Maven. Take care."
Maven nodded, then jogged back toward town. On the way, he remembered he needed to stop at the market. He filled a small bucket with groceries and headed home.
By now, it was late. Mr. Roland sat on the porch, worry carved into his frail features. He murmured, "Today was my son's first day at work… what's keeping him so long?" Just then, the door creaked open.
"I'm home, old man!" Maven called cheerfully.
Relief washed over Mr. Roland's face. "What happened? It's almost nine o'clock."
"I just escorted someone home," Maven explained quickly. "Let me head to the kitchen and prepare something."
But before he could take two steps, Maven turned back with a grin.
"Oh! Old man—here's something for you."
From the grocery bucket, he pulled out a bottle of his father's favorite wine.
Mr. Roland's tired eyes lit up. "You bought this? My favorite wine? Maven, you should save your money."
Maven chuckled. "Thanks, Dad. But happiness matters more than money. Enjoy it. I'll get dinner ready."
A few minutes later, Maven's voice carried from the kitchen.
"Dad, dinner's ready! Eat up while I shower. And don't forget your medicines."
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the small window of their home. Maven stretched, washed, and hurried to the kitchen. After a quick breakfast, he grabbed his bag and set out for work, the scorching sun beating down on him as he walked.
By now, he had been working with Uncle Mark for six months. Days blurred together—lifting, mixing, carrying—but Uncle Mark's mentorship kept him steady. Maven wasn't just working anymore; he was learning.
One afternoon, after a grueling task under the sun, Uncle Mark called him aside.
"Maven," he said, wiping sweat from his brow, "you've been with me for almost seven months now. You've got potential, kiddo. Why not learn this craft properly? You've no school certificate or trade, but you've got grit. Make masonry your skill—for your own sake. I'll teach you free of charge."
Maven's eyes lit up. He had always admired Uncle Mark's steady hands, the way he laid bricks with precision. He nodded eagerly. "Thank you, Uncle Mark. I won't let you down."
Uncle Mark's wrinkled face broke into a proud smile. "I know you won't, son. You're a hard worker. Now—use today's pay to buy your own tools: a trowel, tape measure, rope, and block cutter. I'll give you a German spirit level myself. It'll serve you well."
Maven's chest swelled with pride. He was no longer just a laborer—he was becoming an apprentice.
Back at the site, the usual banter had already started. Jude, Maven's reckless workmate, was in rare form. The two of them carried blocks to the third floor, Jude joking the entire way.
But Jude's mischief often got them into trouble. That day, he pushed a water can into the cement storage area, triggering a mini avalanche of powdery dust. As they rushed to relocate the bags, Maven warned him about a suspicious sack of wet cement.
Jude didn't listen. In seconds, his head plunged straight into the cement, and he came up with his face coated in a thick, gray mask.
Maven burst into laughter, his stomach aching. Soon the others joined in.
"Doesn't he look like a vampire?" one worker shouted.
Jude's eyes burned through the cement as he scowled.
"See their mad heads on their mad necks!" he retorted, sending the group into even louder laughter.
As they helped him wash off, Maven realized something important. These weren't just coworkers anymore. They were brothers in labor, a family of sorts. And for the first time in a long time, he felt like he belonged.