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“You want my help?” She checks my forehead’s temperature with the back of her hand. “Are you feeling okay?”
I push her hand away with a laugh. “Forget I said anything.”
“No! I’d love to help you.”
“Do you remember how to use a circular saw?” I hold up a piece of unfinished wood, only for her to steal it with a huff.
“Don’t insult me like that in your father’s place of worship.”
My chest rumbles from my deep chuckle.
She points at me with the wooden post. “I helped your dad in the shop long before you were born, so it’s best you remember that,mijo.”
Mom and I work side by side for hours after I finish eating. She corrects me a few times, reminding me of my dad when shereprimands me for my joinery technique and wood selection for the more intricate pieces.
Reluctantly, I call it a night once my mom is ready to fall over and I can no longer properly operate the saw without trembling.
“That was so much fun!” She wraps her sweaty, sawdust-sprinkled arms around me. “Thank you for including me.”
I hug her back, ignoring the slight twinge of guilt. “It was nice to have your help.”
“You can ask me anytime.” She looks up at me with glassy eyes. “If only your father were here with us. He would have loved nothing more than to help you create something special for Dahlia.”
My lungs stall.
She untangles herself from my arms and reaches for one of my dad’s old tools with a shaky hand.
“I’m glad you’re using these.”
I can’t speak, let alone breathe.
“He would have wanted you to have them.”
I clench my hands to stop them from trembling.
She follows the movement before glancing back at me. “He planned on passing them down to you once you graduated…”
But he never had a chance.
“I know he is watching us and wishing he wasn’t the reason you never graduated from Stanford.” Her breath catches. “But I also know he would have been so incredibly proud of you for stepping up and taking care of me and his business. You accomplished more than we ever dreamed of in such a short amount of time.”
My heart lodges itself somewhere in my tight throat.
She unclenches my fist before wrapping my fingers around the handle of the hammer. “Te quiero con todo, mi corazón.”
After one last kiss on my cheek, my mom leaves the shed, giving me the space I desperately need.
I hold my father’s hammer with misty eyes.
Teextrañomucho, Papi.
I head toward the back wall and return the hammer where it belongs. The lights above me flicker twice, and goose bumps spread across my arms.
Could it be…
No, Dahlia must have poisoned my mind with all her conversations about the Founder’s house ghost.
Yet despite everything I believe in, I end up speaking aloud regardless.
