His first paycheck from the garden center came a month later. He frowned at it for a full minute.
« They paid me wrong. »
« How do you know? »
« Because I can count. »
He was right. He marched back the next day and got it fixed.
He was right.
At nineteen, he made soup for the first time. He talked himself through every step out loud. « Onion. Pot. Lid. Spoon. Stir. »
« You forgot salt, » I said.
« Not on the list. »
Then he stood over me with his arms crossed. « Be honest. »
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