“Not much.”
I stared at the workbench.
“Ethan says you used the saw.”
“I operated anything that could remove fingers.”
He held up his damaged hand.
“I’m uniquely qualified to explain why.”
I laughed.
Then I picked up one of the practice pieces.
“How much did you actually do?”
Mr. Warren thought about it.
“I demonstrated.”
“And?”
“He practiced.”
“You fixed things?”
“Sometimes.”
“How often?”
“Less often than he would’ve liked me to.”
I looked at him.
Mr. Warren smiled.
“Your brother gets mad when things aren’t right.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“He also refuses to quit.”
“That sounds familiar too.”
He picked up a scrap of walnut.
“He redid those letters until his hand cramped.”
I looked toward the finished box.
“He talked about you constantly.”
My eyes filled.
“What did he say?”
“Mostly complaints.”
I laughed.
“Sounds like Ethan.”
“Said you steal fries.”
“He steals mine.”
Mr. Warren nodded.
