Frank believed that difference would stay with her longer than the specifications of the car.
Marcus came back out carrying a plastic sleeve with the temporary registration and placed it carefully in the lower corner of the rear window.
“Official enough for the road,” he said.
Emily looked at it. “That little piece of paper is doing a lot of emotional work right now.”
Marcus smiled. “First cars have that effect.”
“Do you remember yours?”
“Absolutely. Nineteen ninety-eight Corolla, green, one hubcap missing.”
“Reliable?”
“Eventually.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means my uncle and I replaced enough parts that reliability became a group project.”
Emily laughed.
Marcus rested one hand on the roof of the blue sedan, careful not to leave fingerprints on the freshly detailed paint.
“My mother still has a picture of me standing beside that car like I had won the lottery,” he said. “I was twenty. Bought it with money from loading trucks at night.”
Frank listened.
“First week I owned it, the alternator died,” Marcus continued. “I thought my life was over. My uncle made me take it out myself while he watched. I hated him for about two hours. Then I realized I knew how to do something I had been afraid of that morning.”
Emily nodded slowly.
“Grandpa does that.”
Marcus looked at Frank. “Makes you fix alternators?”
“Makes me do things myself while standing close enough to interfere if I’m about to set something on fire.”
Frank raised an eyebrow. “There was one fire.”
“It was a very memorable fire.”
Marcus laughed.
The exchange felt easy now. Earlier in the day, Marcus had approached them as strangers because he saw two people waiting and decided waiting customers deserved help. Now he knew Frank’s position and Emily’s family, but he had managed not to turn the knowledge into stiffness or exaggerated courtesy.
Frank respected that.
Inside the showroom, Trent was still with Mrs. Campbell, the woman in gardening shoes. He had brought two sets of keys to her desk and was explaining the differences between two older hatchbacks. At one point, the woman shook her head firmly and pointed to a number on a sheet. Trent listened, took the paper back, and walked to the sales tower without any visible irritation.
Emily noticed him too.
“He’s actually helping her.”
Frank followed her gaze.
“Yes.”
“Do you think that’s because he knows we’re watching?”
“Maybe.”
“Then does it count?”
Frank considered the question.
“It counts as one choice.”
“That sounds like a diplomatic answer.”
“It is an accurate answer.”
She waited.
Frank continued. “Sometimes people begin changing for the wrong reason. Embarrassment. Fear.
Wanting approval. The reason matters, but repetition matters too. If he keeps choosing better after the embarrassment is gone, then eventually the behavior belongs to him for a different reason.”
“So fake it until you make it?”
“That phrase is more irritating than the idea.”
Emily smiled.
Diane approached carrying a small printed card.
“I’m giving you my direct number,” she told Emily. “Not because you’re Frank’s granddaughter. I give it to every first-time buyer when I’m personally involved in delivery.”
Emily took the card.
“What counts as a reason to call?”
“Something we promised that doesn’t happen. A paperwork error. A service problem you can’t resolve normally. Anything that makes you feel like you’re being bounced between departments without an answer.”
“What about if I can’t figure out the Bluetooth?”
“Marcus.”
Marcus nodded solemnly. “Apparently I’m technology support now.”