At noon, a woman in a blue pickup came to collect her motorcycle and found Ethan wiping the seat. She was Nora Bell, the county librarian, and she'd been Jack's customer longer than Ethan had been alive. Her eyes moved from the borrowed shop shirt to the thin young face and then to Jack. She didn't ask questions in front of the boy. Instead she left a brown paper bag on the counter and said she'd brought enough sandwiches for three.
Jack waited until she had gone before opening it. “Nora always thinks I don't feed myself,” he said. “She's not entirely wrong.”
Ethan smiled. It was the first real smile Jack had seen on him, and it changed his face so suddenly that Jack turned toward the motorcycle to hide his own reaction. He remembered being thirty-three, newly released from prison, and standing outside a diner where a man named Daniel Reyes had bought him a meal without asking for his story. He hadn't smiled like that. He'd been too angry to remember how.
By closing time, Jack had checked the boy's references as far as he reasonably could, spoken with the technical-school instructor whose number was on an old certificate, and explained the shop's rules. There would be no wandering into private drawers, no touching customers' vehicles without permission, and no disappearing with the cashbox. In exchange, if Ethan wanted to stay a few more days, Jack would give him a safe place to sleep and proper wages for actual hours worked. Ethan could look for other jobs without owing Jack his future.
“I don't have a bank account right now,” Ethan admitted.
“We can solve that.”
“You don't even know me.”
Jack's face became serious. “I know enough to give you a chance. A chance isn't the same as blind trust, kid. You earn the rest by what you do tomorrow and the day after.”
Ethan looked toward the storage room. “How many days?”
Jack sighed. “Let's start with a week. If you turn out to be a pain in my neck, I'll complain about it. If you turn out useful, I'll complain about that too.”
Ethan laughed, surprised by the sound. Later, carrying clean sheets to the cot, he realized he had spent the entire afternoon without checking how much money was left in his pocket. Nothing else about his future was settled. He had no lease, no family member waiting for him, and no guarantee that the next morning would be kind. But when Jack called from the workshop that there was stew left in the fridge, Ethan answered without feeling he needed to apologize.
The week did not end when Jack had promised it would. Monday became Tuesday, Tuesday became a Saturday with three customers waiting for tire changes, and then another Monday arrived before either of them mentioned the arrangement. Ethan was usually awake before Jack, though he didn't have to be. He made coffee, checked the floor for loose bolts, and put the day's invoices in order according to the little system Jack had explained. He had a habit of asking permission for things other people wouldn't think to ask about, including whether he could move a chair or take a second towel from the cupboard.