The boy looked down.
“I just know engines.”
Wendell shook his head.
“No. You understand systems.”
That word caught the boy’s attention.
His eyes lifted.
“Engines are systems,” Wendell continued. “Power grids are systems. Companies are systems. Sometimes people are systems too.”
He paused.
Then repeated something the boy had said while repairing the SUV.
“Most broken things are only one bad connection away from working again.”
The boy looked directly at him then.
For a second, the expensive watch, the dusty sandals, the luxury SUV, and the grocery bag all seemed irrelevant.
There were simply two people standing beside a road, recognizing something in each other.
Then the boy bent down and picked up his bag.
“I need to get home.”
Wendell nodded.
“I’ll drive you.”
The boy stiffened.
“It’s not far.”
“It’s hot enough to cook dinner on the hood.”
“I’m used to walking.”
“That doesn’t make it a good idea.”
The boy hesitated.
Finally, he nodded.
“Okay. But only to the turn near Miller Creek. Mama doesn’t like strangers showing up at the house.”
Wendell opened the passenger door.
The boy stared at the pale leather seat.
His hands were covered in grease.
“It’s fine,” Wendell said.
The boy climbed in carefully anyway, holding the grocery bag tightly in his lap.
His name was Jaylen Tate.
And before that afternoon ended, Wendell Hayes would realize he had just met someone extraordinary.
