The community center project was a baptism by fire of a different kind. The thrill of a meaningful design was tempered by the gritty reality of community meetings, skeptical city planners, and a budget tighter than a drum. Liam, to Evelyn’s continual surprise, was the project’s secret weapon. His intensity, which could be so off-putting in a boardroom, was magnetic to the teenagers. They saw his passion not as volatility, but as authenticity. He listened to their wild ideas about skateable sculpture and rooftop gardens with the same gravity he’d given Cynthia Harrington’s poetry.
One evening, after a long session with the teens, he came home covered in spray paint (a mural experiment gone awry) and a look of peaceful exhaustion Evelyn had never seen on him. “They want a memory wall,” he s
