Chapter 23: Day Thirty

He was kneeling beside the front tire of his uncle's truck when I crossed the lab lot.

He had a lug wrench in one hand and a spare leaning on his knee.

"Day thirty," I said.

"Day twenty-nine and a half." He didn't look up. "It's six in the morning. I'm not done until midnight."

"You want help?"

"I want to be asked if I want help."

I laughed, and crouched next to him.

"Do you want help changing a tire, Caleb Alderson?"

"Yes, please."

"Then hold the wrench."

We took the wheel off together in the gray light.

I told him where to put the jack. My dad had taught me that when I was eleven.

He listened to every word.

That was what I had learned about him in twenty-nine days. He listened.

He had asked what I wanted on a pizza, and he had argued about the olives.

He had sat on the lake rocks at midnight while I told him which ones were basalt.

He never picked up a check without asking first.

Twice I had said no, and he had said, "Okay," and meant it.

I was still waiting for him to fail, and he kept not failing.

He tightened the last lug nut and wiped his hands on his jeans.

"That's it," he said. "Now I'm done with the tire."

"And midnight?"

"At midnight you tell me."

"I'm telling you at six-ten in the morning," I said. "Because I don't want to wait."

He went still.

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