Chapter 6: The Blindfold Test

"Let me learn you," I said.

Cal looked up from the sander. It was Wednesday night, and the shop lights were low over the launch.

"You already know me."

"I know your hum and your boots."

Hoyt's text had sat in my pocket for a day, and I had not answered it.

If he wanted to call me a fraud, he would need a copy of me that could be fooled, so I meant to be a copy that couldn't.

I put down my tea. "A man from a staffing agency copied Hoyt's tap off a description. If anyone ever copies you, I want to catch it."

He wiped his hands on a rag.

"What do you need?"

I took the cotton cloth I used to cover tuning pins and tied it over my own eyes.

The shop went dark and became only sound.

The drip of the stove kettle. A radiator ticking. Cal's breath, a little uneven.

"Stand where you were," I said. "Don't talk. Give me your right hand."

He stepped close, and the warm air of his body reached me before his hand did.

His palm was broad and dry.

I ran my fingers across it slowly, one finger at a time.

A ridge of callus lay at the base of each finger from the plane and the chisel.

There was a nick on the heel of his hand, newly scabbed.

His thumb had a long scar across the pad, smooth and raised, and I stopped there.

"What happened?" I asked.

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