No pity.
That helped.
He turned toward Luis.
“Can we swap the alternator here?”
Luis looked around.
“Technically.”
“Practically?”
“Forty-five minutes if the bolts behave.”
Mack looked toward Jenna.
“I own a repair shop twenty minutes away.”
“No.”
“Okay.”
She blinked.
He continued:
“Then we fix it here.”
“I can’t afford—”
“You haven’t heard the price.”
Jenna folded her arms.
“What’s the price?”
Mack thought.
“Thirty-three cents.”
Nora stared at the coins still in her hand.
Jenna almost became angry.
Then saw his face.
He was not making fun of her.
Mack pointed toward Nora.
“She found thirty-three cents.”
“That’s the budget.”
Nora smiled for the first time.
Jenna looked away so they would not see her cry.
Luis removed his sunglasses.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“I need the part.”
Mack looked toward one of the other bikers.
“Ray.”
Ray groaned.
“Why me?”
“You have the fastest bike.”
“That is not how errands work.”
“It is today.”
Ray took the van’s make and model.
Left.
Jenna looked toward Mack.
“You do this with everyone?”
“What?”
“Take over.”
He smiled faintly.
“Aaron used to complain about that.”
“I know.”
That surprised him.
She continued:
“He also said sometimes it was useful.”
Mack looked down.
“Sounds like him.”
The repair took fifty-three minutes.
The alternator bolt did not behave.
Luis swore twice.
Then saw Nora nearby and apologized each time.
Ray returned with the correct part and a receipt.
Jenna demanded it.
He handed it over.
She looked.
The price line had been crossed out.
She glared.
“Mack.”
He stood near a motorcycle drinking terrible gas-station coffee.
“What?”
“I said I would pay.”
“You can.”
“How?”
“Later.”
“No.”
Mack sighed.
“Mrs. Pierce.”
“Jenna.”
He nodded.
“Jenna.”
He walked closer.
Not too close.
“Your husband saved my life.”
She stared.
Nora stopped coloring on a paper receipt nearby.
Mack continued:
“Literally.”
Jenna looked toward Nora.
Then back.
Mack said:
“Fourteen years ago.”
“Highway 23.”
“A truck crossed the center line.”
“My bike went under the guardrail.”
“Fuel line broke.”
“I was unconscious.”
“Aaron was behind me.”
“He could’ve stopped twenty yards away and waited for ambulance crews.”
“He didn’t.”
Mack looked toward the A.P. patch.
“He went down the embankment.”
“Dragged me thirty feet uphill.”
“Then the bike caught fire.”
Jenna’s face changed.
She knew Aaron had burn scars on his left forearm.
He told her a welding story.
She felt anger again.
Another lie.
Mack saw.
“He never told you.”
“No.”
Mack closed his eyes.