He wouldn’t tell me what he was doing.
Whenever I opened the door, he’d shout, “Claire! Private!”
Mom even gave him a padlock.
That made me suspicious.
“You gave Ethan a padlock?”
“He’s working on your graduation gift.”
“With power tools?”
“Relax.”
“Mom.”
“He isn’t using anything dangerous alone.”
That answer somehow made me less relaxed.
One afternoon, I saw sawdust on Ethan’s hoodie.
Another day, there was a Band-Aid around his thumb.
I almost lost my mind.
“What happened?”
“Wood.”
“What wood?”
“The wood that attacked me.”
“Ethan.”
“It lost.”
Mom stood at the sink trying not to laugh.
I pulled her aside later.
“Who’s helping him?”
“He has help when he needs it.”
“From who?”
“You’ll find out.”
“What is he making?”
“Claire.”
“I’m just asking.”
“No, you’re investigating.”
I crossed my arms.
Mom looked at me for a long moment.
“You know, sometimes people deserve the chance to surprise you.”
