Frank

Laurence was getting weaker by the day. He could feel it in his hand through the vibrations of the wood. He again triggered the saw with his foot, starting the familiar whine of the blade, but the atrophied muscles in his now skinny arms would not budge the walnut into the singing blade. Worse, the impotent attempt left him struggling for breath.###
He stepped off the switch, staggered to the gray metal stool, almost falling on Cindi. She had not moved and did not look up from the chunks of scrap wood from failed projects her grandfather had left on the floor for her to play with. The girl was almost thirteen, but still with the mind of a one-year-old. Laurence felt the sadness like tears in him again. He wanted to finish at least one last project before he died. A year before the doctors had said he had about a year left to live. Looked like they would be proven right, after all. They would probably be right about Cindi, as well. Some legacy he was leaving. His only daughter dead of a drug overdose. He would be dead and dust, And his only grandchild would continue to stay a toddler forever.###
Laurence panted, leaning heavily on the now-silent saw. He blinked to clear his vision when Cindi scooted across the floor, her attention on something he couldn’t see. She reached under the workbench, pulled out a handful of dust bunnies. She raised her hand to her mouth.###
Before the old man could call out, the dust bunnies were on the floor, screws and bolts in her hands and mouth. She was looking closely at the pieces of wood in her hand.###
Laurence stood, but lost his balance. He scattered tools and landed on the floor next to her. Her squinted eyes were focused on the wood and screws. He reached out to take the screws before she could swallow them, then pulled his hand back in shock. He felt as if he were looking in a mirror. Her expression, with the squinted eyes and tip of tongue sticking from the corner or her mouth, was the same one on his face with working on a difficult project in his shop. She maneuvered the pieces, awkwardly pushing the screws first in one way and then another. Unsuccessful, she started crying.###
Laurence felt his eyes growing heavy, and his hand no longer seemed to work. Still, he tried, groping in the darkness until he found the screwdriver. He scooted closer to the girl and wrapped his hands around hers - as large as a teenager’s and as trusting as a toddler’s. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for the tip of one of the screws to stick in the wood.###
Together, they slowly turned the screws with satisfaction.