I shake my head. "I shared this room with five other girls. We didn''t have much privacy, but we became like sisters."


    "Do you still keep in touch with any of them?" Arthur asks.


    "No. We all scattered after aging out. Different cities, different lives." I run my hand along the windowsill, noticing a small carving in the wood-my initials, scratched there with a stolen pencil one lonely night. I trace the letters with my fingertip and try-not to notice the lump forming in my throat.


    After that, we continue the tour, moving from the dormitories to the dining hall, the small library, and finally back to the lobby. Throughout, Arthur asks thoughtful questions about the orphanage''s history and current needs. He notices things I miss a leak in the bathroom ceiling, a crack in the foundation, a window that isn''t storm-proof.


    "This ce needs quite a bit of work," hements to Giulia as we stand in the lobby.


    She sighs, nodding. "The building is nearly a century old. We patch what we can, but I''m no handyman, and hiring professionals is beyond our budget these days."


    Arthur frowns, surveying the space. "Some of these issues could be serious if they''re not addressed. That leak in the


    bathroom, for instance--that''s going to cause structural damage eventually."


    "I''m well aware," Giulia says ruefully. "But what can I do?"


    "I could help," Arthur offers, surprising me. "I''m fairly handy with basic repairs. I could fix the leak, seal that window, maybe


    shore up those loose railings on the stairs. It''ll be easier than hiring a team of people in the meantime, although I''d like to


    personally write you a check to get the more problematic work done professionally."


    Giulia blinks at him in astonishment. "You? The Alpha President? Doing plumbing repairs at an orphanage?"


    I stare at Arthur, equally surprised. This is a side of him I''ve rarely seen-the down-to-earth, roll-up-your-sleeves man beneath


    the polished political exterior. It reminds me of the Arthur I fell in love with, before power and politics took precedence.


    "What happened to the wall?" Miles asks suddenly, pointing to arge nk


    space on the lobby wall. There''s no paint, just drywall, like It was quickly thrown up.


    Giulia turns to look where he''s pointing. "Ah, that. We used to have a beautiful mural there-handprints of all the children who


    passed through these doors. Including your mother''s." She sighs. "But we had a pipe burst a few years back. The water damage was extensive. We had to rece the drywall."


    "All those handprints, gone?" I ask, dismayed. I remember adding mine when I was about six, pressing my paint-covered hand to the wall with such seriousness, as if I were leaving my mark on the world.


    "I''m afraid so," Glu says with a nod. "We''ve been meaning to start a new one, but..." She gestures vaguely, and I understand.


    With so many pressing practical concerns, a decorative mural falls to the bottom of the priority list.


    +20 Bonus


    "Mommy can paint a new one!" Miles exims suddenly. "She''s an artist!"


    Giulia brightens. "Are you? I remember you were always drawing as a child. You''ve made a career of it?"


    Inod, a bit embarrassed by the attention. "Yes, I''m a painter. I actually just received a residency at the Abbott Gallery."


    "How wonderfull" Giulia beams at me. "Oh, I always knew you''d do something creative. You used to draw such beautiful pictures, even with those stubby orphanage crayons."


    "You should paint a new mural, Mommy," Miles insists.


    The idea immediately takes root in my mind. A new mural, not just recing what was lost, but creating something new and hopeful. Something colorful and festive.


    "I could," I say slowly. "If you''d like that, Giulia. Free of charge, of course." Giulia''s eyes fill with tears. "You would do that? Oh, Iris, that would be wonderful. The children would be so excited."


    "You could start tomorrow," Arthur suggests, ncing at me. "While I''m working on the repairs."


    I look at him, surprised again. "You''re reallying back tomorrow to fix things?"


    He nods. "First thing in the morning. I''ve already cleared my schedule."


    "The Alpha President, fixing our plumbing," Giulia marvels. "No one will believe me."


    I study Arthur''s face, looking for signs of insincerity, for the political calction


    that must be behind this gesture. But I see none


    there, and as much as 1 hate to admit it, it softens me.


    "So it''s settled," Giulia says. "You''ll both


    "First thing," Arthur replies with a smile. "Iris, I''ll pick you up first thing."