Evelyn was considering abandoning the car and walking toward the road when an old red pickup pulled into the adjacent space. A man climbed out wearing work boots dusted with salt, an olive jacket lined with cream-colored sherpa, and an expression that suggested he was trying to be useful rather than impressive. He glanced at the open hood and the weak headlamps. "Battery give up on you?" he asked.
"Apparently," Evelyn said, then caught herself sounding sharper than he deserved. "I've already called for help." The stranger nodded as if that settled the matter and started back toward his truck. Through the window, a little girl waved at Evelyn so enthusiastically that Evelyn lifted her hand without thinking. The man paused, glanced at the child, and turned back.
"I've got cables," he said. "If you want, I can see whether she'll take a charge. No promises." Evelyn looked at the slush collecting around her expensive shoes, then at the empty road leading toward the hotel. "Please," she said. "Anything you can do."
Ethan opened the back of his pickup and took out the coiled cables, which were old enough to have belonged to his father. He asked Hope to stay in the cab where it was warm, and she saluted him with a mitten, a gesture she had recently learned from a library book about astronauts. The man carefully parked the truck nose-to-nose with the station wagon, shut off the engine while attaching the leads, and inspected the battery posts before reaching for a clamp. He noticed white corrosion along one terminal and asked Evelyn how long the car had been slow to start.
"A week, perhaps," she admitted. "Then the battery's been warning you," Ethan said, scraping the connection gently with a small brush from his tool roll. He told her to hold off turning the key until he was clear of the cables and made sure the clamps were attached in a safe order. She watched him work as snow landed on the exposed engine and dissolved in small wet spots.
He was not careless or hurried, despite how often Evelyn looked at the time. He explained what he was doing in plain language, never once treating her lack of mechanical knowledge as a reason to embarrass her. When she mentioned the gala, his glance toward the little girl told Evelyn more about his evening than any question would have. The rest happened quickly: the engine caught, Hope cheered through the windshield, and a gold invitation found its way into a mechanic's rough hand.
Ethan looked at the card as though it might dissolve in the cold. On the front, embossed letters announced the Winter Lights Gala at the Grand Alder Hotel, with a reception beginning at six-thirty and dinner at seven-thirty. On the back Evelyn had written, "Ethan Walker and Hope Walker, guests of Evelyn Hartwell. Table One." There was also a telephone number beneath her signature, written in the slightly crooked handwriting of someone more accustomed to typing than using a pen in gloves.