He swallowed. “When my mom died, I thought if I was useful enough he might stop wishing I was gone.”
Jack stood very still. “He took money meant for you?”
“He said it paid for keeping me.”
“Did you ever see the statements?”
“Some. Not all. I copied the ones I could. They're in my school folder, because he never checked that.”
“Smart,” Jack said.
Ethan shook his head. “I should've done more.”
“You were thirteen when it started.” Jack waited until Ethan looked at him. “Children don't owe adults a successful investigation of their own mistreatment. Understand that?”
Ethan's eyes filled with tears he seemed determined not to shed. Jack was not good at comforting people, so he returned to the workbench and demonstrated how to hold the brush at an angle. He spoke about fuel jets and buildup until Ethan could breathe normally again. It was awkward and imperfect, but it left the young man with a lesson he had not learned in Russell's house: somebody could know the worst part of his history and still want him there the following morning.
The next afternoon Jack offered to drive Ethan to his mother's grave. Ethan refused at first because the trip would take more than an hour and gas cost money. Jack said he needed to test the rebuilt pickup after replacing a belt, which was only partly true. They bought flowers at a grocery store and traveled along a narrow road where the mountains folded into dark blue layers. At the cemetery, Jack stayed by the truck while Ethan knelt beside a small stone that read ELLEN MARIE WALKER, BELOVED MOTHER.
He told her about the garage. He told her he'd learned to identify a loose bearing by sound and that the man teaching him complained constantly but always left enough food for both of them. He admitted that he was scared the arrangement could disappear without warning, because good things had rarely stayed. Then he laid the flowers beside the stone and waited for the wind to lift their leaves. He didn't ask his mother for an answer. He only wanted her to know that someone had opened a door.
When he returned, Jack had the heater running. Neither man spoke much on the way home. At one point Jack reached across the seat and turned the radio to a song that was playing softly, and Ethan recognized it as one his mother used to sing. He didn't ask how Jack knew. Jack didn't explain that he'd listened when Ethan hummed in the shop.
By the second week Ethan had learned the daily rhythm of Red Creek. Nora Bell came by on Tuesdays, claiming she needed to look at the bulletin board in the waiting room even when there was nothing new on it. Mr. Hollis from the feed store drove a rusty truck and argued with Jack about the cost of parts while bringing him free eggs. A retired nurse named Elaine Porter occasionally appeared with homemade bread and would not leave until Jack ate a slice. These people had all learned that his gruffness covered a capacity for doing favors he never recorded.