Mack’s grandson.
His mother’s child.
His own person.
During his first year as an apprentice, an older supervisor recognized his surname.
“Any relation to Aaron Harris?”
Eli paused.
“That was my dad.”
The supervisor smiled.
“Worked with him once.”
Eli’s heart jumped.
“Where?”
“Transmission shop in Lexington.”
“What was he like?”
The supervisor laughed.
“Terrible mechanic.”
Eli laughed immediately.
Mack had said the same.
“He’d spend twenty minutes looking for a wrench that was in his back pocket.”
That detail meant everything.
Not heroic.
Not tragic.
Human.
Eli began collecting small stories about Aaron from people who had known him.
A former neighbor remembered Aaron giving away his coat to a teenager in winter.
A coworker remembered him stealing everyone’s yogurt from the break-room refrigerator.
His mother confirmed that.
“He denied it.”
“Did you know?”
“His favorite flavor mysteriously matched the missing ones.”
Another friend remembered Aaron wanting to open a small fabrication shop.
That surprised Eli.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
His mother shrugged.
“You never asked about work dreams.”
Fair.
Later, when Eli considered starting his own shop, he wondered whether the desire belonged to him or some inherited ghost.
Mack said:
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to live somebody else’s life.”
Mack looked toward the garage.
“You can get an idea from someone without owing them the outcome.”
That helped.
Eli eventually opened a small fabrication business.
Not because Aaron dreamed it.
Because Eli liked building things.
The shop specialized in agricultural repairs, custom railings, structural components, and eventually safety-critical temporary support systems.
The irony was obvious.
Mack refused to comment.
For approximately four minutes.
Then:
“Your great-grandfather would laugh himself unconscious.”
Eli smiled.
“I know.”
The Red Hollow memorial opening happened when Eli was twenty-three.
The preserved steel beam stood upright beside the county trail.
The corrected incident report had been condensed into a plaque.
No accusations beyond established findings.
No melodrama.
It stated that documented concerns regarding temporary support had preceded the collapse and that the earlier attribution of primary responsibility to the deceased junior worker was unsupported.
Danny’s sister attended in a wheelchair.
She was very frail.
Eli knelt beside her.
She held his hand.
“You look like Aaron.”
“So everybody says.”
“Do you know who you sound like?”
“Who?”
“Walter.”
Eli groaned.
“That too.”
She laughed.
Then pointed toward Mack.
“He looks old.”
“He is.”
Mack heard.
“I can still hear.”
“Unfortunately,” she answered.
Everyone laughed.
After the short ceremony, Danny’s sister asked Eli to walk with her toward the river overlook.