Marcus noticed.
“Don’t encourage him.”
The other man returned to his work.
Marcus walked closer.
“What do you need?”
Caleb reached into his pocket.
He pulled out the folded money.
“Can you fix this for twenty-seven dollars?”
The garage changed.
Not visibly.
But the men who had been pretending not to listen stopped pretending.
Marcus looked at the money.
Then at Caleb.
“What happened?”
“The chain came off.”
Marcus crouched beside the bicycle.
“That’s not the only problem.”
Caleb’s stomach tightened.
“What else?”
Marcus squeezed the front brake lever.
It collapsed nearly to the handlebar.
His expression changed.
He examined the cable near the caliper.
Only a few strands of metal remained intact.
Marcus looked up.
“You’ve been riding this?”
Caleb shook his head.
“My mom does.”
Marcus stopped.
“Your mom rides this bike?”
“Yes.”
“To where?”
“Work.”
Marcus’s eyes moved briefly toward the garage entrance.
He could see Rachel across the street.
“What’s your name?”
“Caleb.”
“Where’s your mom?”
Caleb pointed.
Marcus followed.
Rachel stood by the bus shelter, still looking at her phone.
“She know you brought the bike here?”
Caleb hesitated.
“No.”
Marcus stared.
Caleb quickly added:
“I was going to tell her after.”
A biker at the workbench laughed quietly.
Marcus looked over.
“Dean.”
The laughter ended.
Marcus turned back.
“Kids who walk into garages without telling their mothers usually create paperwork.”
Caleb lowered his eyes.
“I just wanted it fixed before tomorrow.”
“What happens tomorrow?”
“She works.”
“What time?”
“Five.”
Marcus glanced at him.
“In the morning?”
Caleb nodded.
Something in Marcus’s face shifted.
“How far?”
“About three miles.”
“Every day?”
“Yes.”
“Why doesn’t she take the bus?”
“It doesn’t start until five-thirty.”
Marcus looked at the bicycle again.
He spun the rear wheel.
The tire was worn almost completely smooth through the center.
He checked the brake pads.
Nearly gone.
He pulled the chain.
Far too much movement.
Stretched.
He noticed the rear reflector was loose.
One pedal had play.
The front wheel alignment was off.
This was not a chain repair.
It was a bicycle surviving on borrowed time.
Caleb held out the money farther.
“I have twenty-seven.”
Marcus stood.
“No.”
Caleb’s face fell.
He had expected maybe thirty.
Forty.
Even fifty.
He had not considered the possibility that the answer would simply be no.
“How much do I need?”
Marcus looked toward Rachel again.
Then back at him.
“That’s not what I meant.”
Caleb frowned.
Marcus took the bills from his hand.