Mason.
They knew when to joke.
When to stop.
When to give him space.
When to push gently.
They knew him like family.
Maybe better than some family.
George came toward me.
“You’re his mother?”
“Yes.”
He shook my hand.
“You raised a stubborn kid.”
“I know.”
“He saved my life too.”
My smile disappeared.
“Diane told me you were sick.”
George shook his head.
“Not that way.”
He glanced toward the empty stool beside his old place at the counter.
“After my wife died, I had enough money to live and no reason to wake up.”
His eyes shone.
“Mason gave me reasons.”
He laughed softly.
“Mostly because he kept giving me jobs.”
“Jobs?”
“First he needed someone to build card holders.”
George had been a carpenter.
“Then shelves.”
Then small sound-dampening dividers for quiet tables.
Then signs.
When other restaurants adopted Same Table, they needed materials.
George built them.
