She pulled him into a hug before she could stop herself. Noah accepted it reluctantly at first, conscious of the mechanics nearby, then leaned into her for a moment longer than he usually did in public. The garage remained full of men talking over mechanical drawings, but Angela heard only her son breathing against her shoulder. The last time she'd been in a room where adults gathered around a machine and listened so carefully, Marcus had still been alive. She had forgotten how much the sound of people discussing repairs could resemble home.
Victor joined them near the doorway. "Angela, I need to ask you something. You said his father taught him about engines. Was he a mechanic?" She kept a protective arm around Noah.
"Yes, sir. For most of his adult life." Victor tried to remember whether he had ever asked about her family during the seven years she'd worked for him. He could remember approving a request for two bereavement days, possibly three, but he could not remember asking who had died. "Where did he work?" he asked.
Angela gave him a cautious look. "Several places. Restoration shops. Some salvage work. He helped people who couldn't afford the regular garages."
The answer stirred an old memory, but nothing settled into place. Victor was not yet ready to connect the widow cleaning his estate with the mechanics he'd known through his father's business. For now, his thoughts remained fixed on the car and the extraordinary chance that a child had noticed something the specialists missed. "I want Noah to come back tomorrow," he said. Angela blinked.
"Sir, he has school." Victor nodded, chastened by the obvious fact he had overlooked. "After school, if you agree. If the replacement gets here in time. I want him to see whether the repair works."
Angela studied him. She had seen wealthy people become briefly fascinated by poor children, calling them remarkable while forgetting them once a more interesting diversion arrived. A full day of smiling attention could end with a photograph and a gift card, leaving the family in exactly the same circumstances. She did not want her son paraded around as a novelty, especially not if tomorrow brought another failure and another roomful of frustrated adults. "He can't miss class," she said. "And I don't want him blamed if something goes wrong."
Victor paused. Nobody in his private garage usually negotiated with him so directly. He realized she was asking for something more important than permission: she was asking him to treat her son as a child whose safety mattered, not as a useful surprise. "He won't miss class," Victor said.
"He won't touch hazardous equipment. He can observe if you want him here, and if you don't, I will respect that." Angela searched his face for a hint of impatience. She found instead an awkward determination that seemed new to him as well.
"All right," she said. "After school, if the work is ready." Noah looked from his mother to Victor, astonished by the possibility. "Can I bring my notebook?" he asked. "Of course," Victor said.