Ethan was quiet for a while.
Then he said, “I just wanted her to have something that was hers.”
“What do you mean?”
He rubbed his thumb against his palm.
“Everybody talks to her like she’s made of glass. They act like if she does anything normal, something bad is going to happen.”
He paused.
“She wanted to make costumes. She wanted to learn how to use that machine. She wanted to do something that didn’t have anything to do with hospitals.”
I nodded.
“That was thoughtful of you.”
He looked at me hopefully.
“But the secrecy wasn’t.”
His shoulders dropped.
“I know.”
We drove another few minutes.
Then he spoke so quietly that I almost missed his words.
“I wish Dad had taught me more stuff before he died.”
My fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
“What kind of stuff?”
He shrugged.
“Just stuff.”
I waited, but he didn’t continue.
