“I can’t make this place work,” he said.

He didn’t look at me; he kept his fingers pressed against the cold metal of the vise.

“I tried to fix the gutter on the garage last week,” David said.

“You did a fine job, David,” I said.

“No, I didn’t,” he said, his voice rising slightly. “I stripped the screws.”

“I had to use wood filler just to make them hold.”

“Dad would have done it in ten minutes, and it would have been perfect.”

Rachel stepped inside the door, letting it swing shut behind her.

“David, nobody expects you to be Dad,” she said.

“Yes, they do,” David said, his voice cracking.

He turned around to face us, his eyes bright with tears he was trying not to shed.

“You do,” he said, looking at me. “Every time you look at me when something breaks.”

“Every time you ask me if I can take a look at the lawnmower.”

“I don’t know how to fix the lawnmower, Mom.”

“I don’t know how to align the blade on the table saw.”

He looked at Harold, his chest heaving.