He set the crate down by the railing and wiped his pocketknife clean on his denim thigh before folding the blade shut.

“The wood shop tools are oiled and ready if you need to build more harvest boxes,” Carl said.

“I can help you build ten more on Saturday afternoon,” I said, sitting on the top wooden step with my knees pulled up.

Carl sat on the step below me, leaning his shoulders against the support post.

“You were sixteen when I gave you that silver watch,” Carl said, pointing his knife case toward my left wrist.

I touched the metal band with my thumb.