Leon stood by the Honda with his lips pressed together. Frank knew he was afraid the opportunity would vanish if he walked away. He offered the child a sandwich and made him sit until he had eaten most of it. Afterward, he gave him a clean bottle of water and told him to go home while there was still light.
The walk toward Whispering Pines was less frightening than it had been on Friday, but the trailer itself looked just as tired. Inside, Tammy sat at the kitchen table with an envelope open in front of her. Her hair was twisted up in a careless knot, and the skin beneath her eyes was darker than usual. Leon stopped in the doorway, automatically reading the tension in her shoulders.
"Where were you?" she asked.
"At the shop."
"Frank's shop?"
He nodded. She looked toward his bandaged hand and frowned. "What happened?"
Leon nearly answered that nothing had happened, then changed his mind. "I slipped with a wrench. Mr. Frank cleaned it. He said I have to ask before using tools I don't know."
Tammy reached across the table. "Let me see."
He held out the hand. She examined the clean dressing, touched his wrist gently, and sighed. "You're eight years old, Leon. I can't have you getting hurt fixing grown men's things."
"I know."
"Do you?"
"I do now." He hesitated. "Mr. Jim gave me a little motorcycle. A broken one. If I can fix it, I get to keep it."
Tammy stared at him. "A motorcycle?"
"It's not for riding yet. It doesn't have good tires or anything. Mr. Frank won't let me ride it. I'm just learning."
His mother rubbed a hand across her forehead. He expected shouting. Instead she looked at him for a long moment, trying to understand a subject so far removed from her daily exhaustion that it might have belonged to another household. "You like doing that?" she asked.
"More than anything."
She looked away toward the envelope on the table. It was another overdue bill, one of many she could not fully solve by working harder because there were only so many hours a person could stay awake. "Your grandfather used to fix lawn equipment," she said eventually. "My dad, before you were born. Had an old toolbox he carried everywhere. He could listen to a mower and say what was wrong."
Leon sat down opposite her. This was information she had never volunteered before. "Did he teach you?"
"A little. I mostly watched. I was impatient." She gave a brief smile that disappeared almost as soon as it arrived. "Maybe you got that part from him instead of me."
They sat together in a silence less hostile than the ones Leon was used to. Tammy stood, opened the refrigerator, and made them both a simple dinner from leftovers. It was not enough to solve anything about their circumstances. She still had another night shift coming, and the bills remained on the table. But when she placed the plate before him she said, "Tell me about this little motorcycle," and listened while he described its rusty frame and stubborn engine.