Chapter 16: The Splinter

Three Thursdays later, Daniel came up the porch steps with a receipt in his hand.

He held it out before he said hello.

"A kitchen table," he said. "Oak. Four chairs. It's in the garage at Maple Court, in the original cardboard, and it's mine."

I read the receipt. His name was printed at the top.

"You sold something."

"My good drill. And the tools from my dad's side. I didn't need three."

Kate took June out of my arms and went down into the shop to find her a flower to look at.

"I'll be right under you," she called. "Being supervisory."

Daniel sat on the porch bench with his big hands between his knees.

It was thirty minutes, in daylight, in public.

I sat down at the other end, with the full width of the bench between us.

"How's the house?" I said.

"Quiet."

"Floor?"

"Still the floor." He almost smiled. "I'm learning the sound the refrigerator makes."

He leaned on the porch rail while he talked, and suddenly he pulled his hand away and swore under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing. Splinter."

"Let me see."

"It's fine."

"Daniel. Hand."

He turned his palm up.

A sliver of gray wood stood out of the base of his thumb, under the skin, deep.

I looked at it, and at the clock on the church tower across the street.

"Porch only?" I said.

He looked up.

It was my own rule, and I was the one saying it back.

"I'm just asking," I said. "Is it porch only? Because I have tweezers upstairs, and a needle, and I've pulled worse out of Kate."