I close the hood and stand there for a moment, trying to figure out how to tell her. She's clearly on a budget, probably a tight one, based on the way she looked when I mentioned repair costs. And if she's living in the car, she doesn't have a lot of options.
I could cut her a deal on the parts. Use salvage where I can. Maybe set up a payment plan that won't bury her. Or I could do what I know I'm going to do, which is fix it for cost and pretend like I'm not taking a loss.
My dad would tell me I'm a terrible businessman. He's probably right.
But I've never been able to shake the lessons he taught me about taking care of people, even when it doesn't make financial sense. *You fix what's broken,* he used to say. *Cars, people, doesn't matter. You fix what you can.*
I head back to the front, where Morgan is now looking at Riley's coloring book and offering surprisingly detailed feedback on her color choices.
"The purple really makes the butterfly stand out," she's saying.
"That's what I thought!" Riley looks vindicated. "Daddy said it should be yellow."
"Yellow's nice too, but purple is bold."
When Morgan sees me, she straightens up, and I watch the hope and fear war across her face.
I hate this part of the job.
"So," I say, leaning against the doorframe. "I've got good news and bad news."
Her face falls. "Bad news first."
"Your timing belt's shot, which likely means valve damage. And your transmission fluid is burnt, which suggests that's on its way out too."
"How much?"
I give her the honest number: what it would cost at any shop, with new parts and labor.
She goes pale. "I don't... I don't have that."
"I figured." I cross my arms, trying to look more casual than I feel. "Here's the good news. I can source used parts from a salvage yard I work with. Cut the cost down significantly. And I can set up a payment plan, whatever works for your budget."
"How significantly?"
I give her the reduced number. It's still not cheap, but it's manageable.
She's quiet for a long moment, staring at her hands. When she looks up, her eyes are shiny.
"That's... that's really kind of you. But I can't. I'm not staying in town, I don't have a way to make payments if I'm traveling, and I can't just—" She stops, swallowing hard. "I'm sorry. I need to think about this."
Riley, who's been watching this exchange with the focus of someone watching a particularly interesting TV show, speaks up. "You could stay here."
"Riley—"
"What? She could! She could get a job at Murphy’s diner. He’s always saying he needs help."
Morgan manages a small smile. "I appreciate that, but I can't just—"
"Why not?" Riley asks, with the blunt logic of a four-year-old. "Your car's here. You need money to fix it. You could work and fix it and then go traveling."
"She's got a point," I say, before I can stop myself.
Morgan looks at me, startled.
"I mean, it's not a bad idea," I continue, even though a smarter man would stay out of it. "Blackwater Falls is small, but we've got a few places that are usually hiring. The new diner, like Riley said. Maybe the general store. It'd give you a way to cover the repairs without draining your savings."
"I don't know anyone here," she says quietly.
