Six
Cody
My fingers brushed the felt pouch that held my carving tools. I didn’t recognize the hands that touched it: large, rough. They were a man’s hands—my father’s hands.
I held the tiger’s eye up to the light. Sunlight hit it reflecting hues of brown, amber, and gold. It reminded me of the gold in Dale’s eyes . . . Cassie’s eyes.
I pulled out a diamond needle file from the pouch. After dipping the stone into a small bowl of water, I slid the file back and forth at the top of the rounded part of the stone, carving a groove into it.
The movements were rhythmic, calming. With each stroke, the file cut deeper into the stone. I’d been working on the carving for the past couple of days. No one was around to bother me. Just me sitting alone, under the tree in the front of the trailer hom
