Earl brought the saw back yesterday. Eighteen months. Stood in the doorway of the shed like I owed him something for the privilege.

I almost said it. The thing I'd been rehearsing since November. I had the line ready and everything.

Then I went looking for a photograph this morning to back up my version of the story. Found one from that week. Earl helping me cut the boards for the shed I built — except I didn't build it alone. He's right there in the picture, holding the other end.

I'd been telling it wrong for a year and a half. Even to myself. Especially to myself.

My hands aren't what they were. I set the photograph down twice trying to put it back in the drawer.

Hank wants out.

Love,

Papaw