Page 97 of Making Over Maris

She shook her head. Unbelievable. She stared out the window. She thought back to high school and winced. How many times had she made fun of Jack to her friends? His clothes? His unkempt, scraggly hair? His idiotic comments?

When he’d been doing his best, floundering in a world he didn’t understand. Because no one had ever explained it to him.

“You’ve accomplished so much. Considering.”

“I suppose.”

She nearly laughed at his self-effacing tone. It was so…Jack.

He pulled into the parking lot of a strip mall and parked. Sara glanced at the Chinese restaurant right in front of them. Excellent. She loved Chinese. And she was hungry.

She didn’t wait for him to open the door. She hopped out and headed for the restaurant.

“Sara?”

She stopped. Turned. He stood by his car, holding a small gift bag. “We’re going this way.” He nodded his head to the left.

“Oh. Okay.” No Chinese. No problem.

She headed back and took his outstretched hand. Let him lead.

It was surprising that he led her toward the field to the south. It was surrounded by a decorative metal fence. Together, they passed through a creaky gate.

“Jack, is this—” Oh hell. It was.

A cemetery.

She said nothing more as he made his way to a gravesite underneath a sprawling, gnarly oak. The stone said, “Sam Winston—a wonderful man. You will be missed,” along with the dates of his life.

Jack put his arm around her shoulders. “Sara Grant. This is Mr. Winston. Mr. Winston, this is Sara, the girl I told you about.”

Her heart lurched. He’d told Mr. Winston about her? When? But she didn’t ask. Instead she said, “Thank you, Mr. Winston.” It was a whisper but heartfelt. She hoped, if there was such a thing as an afterlife, Mr. Winston would feel the full force of her gratitude.

“His name was Sam,” Jack said.

“Sam.” She nodded. Although she knew that. She’d read the stone. “I like that name.”

“Me too.” Jack stood in silence for a long while. “He’s the reason I was able to make it. The reason I’m alive. The reason I’m anything,” he said. Silence surrounded them as they both fell into their thoughts. After a while he said, “It’s funny, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“How it only takes one person to care. To make a world of difference. One person…” He pulled something small and metallic from the gift bag and set it on top the tombstone.

“What’s that?”

Jack grinned. “A little robot. I built it. From a kit. I make him one every year.”

“Why?” Sara hugged her arms around herself. He’d moved away; she was suddenly cold. She liked that he came back to her side after he set the robot on the tombstone and wrapped his arm around her again.

“It’s how he got me.” He glanced at her, saw her confusion and elaborated. “He convinced me to join this stupid robotics club. We built these spider bots. They don’t do anything but crawl around and flash lights but as a kid I was fascinated by them—and that I could actually make something. Someone had donated a crappy old computer to the shelter and I used it to create more interesting designs. And then I discovered I have an affinity for writing programs…”

“Did Mr. Winston help you with that too?”

Jack laughed. “No. He didn’t understand code in the least. Said it was all ‘jibber-jabber’ but he liked that I cared about something.” Jack turned back to the grave. “He was a good man.”

“He was.”

“I always thought if I ever had a kid, maybe I would name him Sam.”