Chapter 9 - The Shadow on the Stairs
"You're making it look like a real one."
The quiet voice startled me so badly that the blade nearly slipped across my thumb.
I whipped around, hiding the knife behind my leg out of pure reflex.
Leo was sitting on the third step from the bottom of the staircase, his chin resting on his knees. He was wearing navy blue flannel pajamas covered in tiny polar bears. In the dim light of the tree, his eyes were huge, reflecting the yellow and green bulbs.
"Leo," I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs. "You shouldn't be awake. It's past three in the morning."
"I heard the wood scratching," he said. He didn't sound scared; he sounded fascinated. He slid down the stairs on his rear end, step by step, until his bare feet touched the carpet.
He walked over to the tree and sat down right across from me, cross-legged, copying my posture perfectly.
"My mom said I shouldn't use the sharp knife yet," Leo said, pointing at the piece of pine in my hand. "She bought me a plastic set, but plastic doesn't bite the wood. It just bends."
"'Bite the wood,'" I repeated softly, the ghost of a smile touching my lips. "That's... that's exactly what my granddad used to say."
"Did he build things too?"
"Yeah. He built barns. And houses. He built the table your mom has in the kitchen."
Leo’s eyes widened. "Really? That table has a secret mark on the bottom. Did he put it there?"
"A star inside a circle," I whispered. "Carved right near the center post."
Leo gasped, a sound of pure childhood revelation. "You *know* the secret mark!"
"I helped him carve it," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "I was just about your age. Maybe a little older."
Leo reached out his small hand and touched the hood of the little truck. I had smoothed the rough gouges into a clean, curved fender. His thumb ran over the sanded pine with the sensitive, knowing touch of a natural builder.
"You fixed the cab," he said in awe. "I couldn't get the roof flat. It kept splitting along the grain."
"Pine is tricky," I explained, leaning in, forgetting every warning Lauren had given me, forgetting the boundary, forgetting everything except the boy in front of me. "The summer growth is soft, but the winter rings are hard. If you push the blade too fast across the grain, the soft wood gives out and tears. You have to slice at an angle, like this."
I held up the piece, demonstrating the slicing motion with my thumb guiding the spine of the blade.
Leo watched with an intensity that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. He wasn't just watching a stranger; he was absorbing the craft.
"Can you show me how to do the wheels?" he asked.
"Leo."
May you like
A sharp, cold voice cut through the magic of the room.
Lauren was standing at the top of the stairs, her robe tied tightly around her waist, her face pale in the darkness.
