I nearly passed him, but suddenly I stopped.
His jacket.
There was a red sailboat stitched over the pocket.
The boy went pale.
I had sewn that patch myself to cover a tear when Daniel was thirteen.
A month before he got sick, he had donated the jacket to the church thrift shop.
“Where did you get that?” I asked.
The boy went pale.
“They gave it to me. I can take it back.”
“No, sweetheart. It looks good on you.”
“I can take it back.”
Then I did something I hadn’t expected.
I sat down beside him and cried.
I told this stranger about Daniel — how sick he had been, how much I missed him, and how I still caught myself wanting to tell him things.
When I finally stood up, I took the last $10 from my pocket and held it out to him.
I did something I hadn’t expected.
