NORMAN could never tell his daughter Annie how he felt about her, even when she was much younger. Back then, however, he could at least sit her on his lap. Now, whenever he and Hazel went to visit her, he’d bring his tools and, while the women chatted, he’d stop Annie’s taps from dripping and unsqueak her doors. If he was lucky, he’d find big jobs that required repeat visits: weatherboards that needed painting, fence posts that leaned like drunks. With every swish of his brush and thrust of his spade, he told Annie everything he’d never been able to say.