For years.
“I thought that kid needed help,” George said. “Turns out he gave an old man a second career.”
Mason corrected him.
“Third.”
George rolled his eyes.
“See what I mean?”
Then he placed a hand on the wooden box.
“Eventually people wanted to donate.”
My head turned toward Hannah.
She winced.
“How much?”
“Claire—”
“How much?”
Mason answered.
“One million, eight hundred and forty-two thousand, six hundred and eleven dollars.”
Silence.
I stared at him.
“What?”
“And thirty-four cents.”
A laugh burst from somewhere behind us.
I couldn’t move.
“Say that again.”
“One million—”
“I heard the number.”
“Oh.”
I looked at Hannah.
“Where did nearly two million dollars come from?”
“Ten years of donations,” she said.
“From who?”
“Everyone.”
Apparently Same Table had attracted attention beyond our city years earlier.
A local newspaper wrote about the diner but honored Mason’s request not to identify him.
