Then he leaned closer.
“You know, Sophie's asking if she can spend part of the summer here next year.”
Marcus looked surprised.
“Really?”
“She wants to learn how to fix motorcycles.”
The older man laughed.
“Dean'll have her rebuilding carburetors before breakfast.”
Lucas grinned.
“That's what I'm afraid of.”
They laughed together.
And Marcus realized something he'd spent years failing to understand.
The garage could be important without becoming the only important thing in his life.
He could help customers.
Support the community.
And still leave work in time to sit with his family.
He didn't have to choose between being useful and being loved.
For the first time since Helen died, the distinction finally felt real.
Late that afternoon, after most visitors had gone home, a woman entered the garage holding the hand of a little girl.
The woman was in her thirties.
Her work uniform was faded.
Her shoes were worn.
And her expression reminded Marcus painfully of Sarah on the afternoon she arrived with the silver Chevrolet.
The little girl carried a small pink backpack.
She stood close to her mother's side, looking nervously at the motorcycles.
Marcus approached.
“Can I help you?”
The woman swallowed.
“I was told you sometimes help people who need their cars for work.”
Marcus nodded.
“We participate in a program that may be able to help, depending on the repair and the available resources.”
She looked toward the floor.
“I don't have much money.”
He smiled gently.
“Why don't you tell me what's wrong with the car first?”
The woman hesitated.
Then explained that her vehicle had begun overheating during her commute. She was afraid to drive it farther and had arranged for someone to bring her to the garage.
Marcus listened.
Then asked several questions.
He didn't promise a free repair.
Didn't tell her everything would be fine.
And didn't make her feel ashamed for asking.
He explained that the car needed a proper inspection before anyone could determine the problem or whether it was safe to drive.
The woman nodded.
For a moment, she seemed relieved.
Then the little girl stepped forward.
“Sir?”
Marcus looked down.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
She opened her backpack.
Inside were several carefully folded dollar bills and a small purse.
She held them toward him.
“This is what I have.”
Marcus froze.
For a moment, the garage disappeared.
He saw another child.
A blue hoodie.
Messy brown hair.
And a glass jar full of coins.
He remembered Ethan's frightened voice.
How much repair does this buy?
Marcus slowly crouched beside the little girl.
He looked at the money.
Then toward her mother.
Finally, he smiled.