He wore a dust mask around his neck.
Sawdust covered his shirt.
In his hands was one of Dad’s old hand planes.
Derek looked at me.
Then at Dad.
Nobody spoke.
Finally he set the plane down.
“So you came.”
“I came three days ago.”
His face tightened.
“You saw the house.”
“Yes.”
He looked ashamed.
That mattered more to me than I expected.
“I can explain.”
“I’m sure you can.”
Dad stepped between us—not physically separating us, simply reminding us he was there.
“Explain without defending,” he said.
Derek
