Several broken mowers were stored beside the entrance.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Still keeping the worst machines in the county?”
Patricia laughed.
“Somebody has to.”
Marcus smiled.
Then asked.
“What if I helped fix them?”
She studied him.
“You want to volunteer again?”
He nodded.
“More than that.”
For a moment, he seemed nervous.
Then continued.
“I've been thinking about starting a workshop. Something for teenagers who want to learn basic mechanical repair.”
Patricia looked interested.
Marcus continued.
“Lawnmowers. Bicycles. Small engines. Maybe eventually more complicated equipment.”
She nodded slowly.
“What would it cost?”
He smiled.
“That's the part I'm figuring out.”
Patricia laughed.
Then became serious.
“Why do you want to do it?”
Marcus looked toward the old mowers.
For several seconds, he remained quiet.
Then answered.
“Because when I was younger, people let me take broken things apart without making me feel stupid.”
He smiled faintly.
“I want to give somebody else that chance.”
Patricia studied him.
Then nodded.
“Let's talk.”
The workshop opened the following summer.
It wasn't enormous.
A renovated industrial space near the community gardening center contained several workbenches, storage cabinets, a small classroom, and a supervised equipment area.
The project was supported through a nonprofit partnership, donations, and properly administered funding that included part of Marcus's settlement proceeds.
He didn't quit his engineering job.
He worked at the workshop during weekends and selected evenings.
Qualified instructors and volunteers helped supervise the students, and equipment safety rules were enforced carefully.
The first group included twelve teenagers.
Some came from families that couldn't afford expensive extracurricular programs.
Others simply loved machines.
A few had been told repeatedly that they weren't good at school.
Marcus wanted them to discover that intelligence appeared in more than one form.
On opening day, he stood beside a red lawnmower.
The same model that had been beside him during the attack.
He had cleaned it carefully.
Replaced worn parts.
And restored the engine until it ran smoothly.
A fourteen-year-old boy approached.
He had dark skin, curly hair, and the nervous expression of someone afraid to ask a question.
“Mr. Bennett?”
Marcus turned.
“Yes?”
The boy pointed toward the mower.
“Is that the one from the video?”
Marcus felt his stomach tighten.
For a moment, he considered changing the subject.
Then nodded.
“Yes.”
The boy stared.
“Does it still work?”
Marcus smiled faintly.
“Better than ever.”
The teenager looked toward him.
For several seconds, he seemed uncertain.
Then asked.
“Were you scared?”
Marcus took a breath.
“Yes.”
The boy nodded slowly.
Then looked toward the machine.
“Are you still scared?”
Marcus considered.
“Sometimes.”