And he had begun carrying responsibilities she never intended to place upon his shoulders.
The jar of coins was his idea.
Sarah had no idea he was planning to use it for the car until he brought it outside that afternoon.
For more than two years, Ethan had been saving spare change in the mason jar that once held his grandmother's homemade peach preserves.
At first, the money was supposed to buy a remote-controlled truck.
Then a bicycle.
Then a game console.
Whenever his plans changed, he kept saving.
He loved listening to the coins rattle.
He liked counting them.
And he liked knowing that every dime represented something he'd chosen not to spend.
But when the Chevrolet stalled at the red light, Ethan watched his mother's face change.
She gripped the steering wheel.
Turned the key.
Waited.
Tried again.
The engine gave a weak, uneven sound.
Then stopped.
A driver behind them honked.
Sarah raised one hand apologetically.
Ethan looked toward her.
“Mom?”
“It's okay.”
But her voice trembled.
She eventually got the car running and made it home.
Later that evening, Ethan heard her talking on the phone with a repair shop.
He wasn't trying to listen.
He'd simply been walking toward the kitchen when he heard her ask about an alternator.
Then the price.
Then her quiet answer.
“I understand. I just don't have that right now.”
She ended the call.
For several minutes, she sat at the table looking at a folded sheet of paper.
Ethan stood in the hallway.
He wanted to ask what was wrong.
But he already knew.
The next morning, he opened his closet.
Pulled out the jar.
And counted every coin.
Eighty-three dollars and forty cents.
He counted it again.
Then a third time.
He knew it wouldn't buy a new car.
But perhaps it could buy something small enough to make the old one work.
He remembered seeing a biker garage on the road to school.
The men outside wore leather vests and rode enormous motorcycles that made the windows vibrate when they started.
They looked frightening.
But one afternoon, Ethan saw a gray-bearded mechanic kneeling beside a little girl's bicycle, adjusting the chain while her father waited.
The mechanic didn't charge them.
Ethan remembered that.
So when Sarah said she was taking the car out to ask for one more estimate before giving up, he brought the jar.
And while his mother stood beside the Chevrolet worrying about the bill, Ethan walked into Hale's Motor Works.
He had never been more frightened.
Or more determined.
Marcus opened the Chevrolet's hood.
Dean brought over a rolling cart containing diagnostic equipment, while a younger mechanic named Luis Ortega approached carrying a portable battery tester.