6. Ethan
ETHAN
Ipopped the hood of Lena’s car and stared at the engine like it might tell me its secrets if I looked hard enough.
The battery terminals were worse than I initially thought, crusted with corrosion that spread further than the simple cleaning I promised this morning would fix.
Her German engineering was impressive on the outside, but even precision machines needed maintenance, and this one had clearly been neglected.
I grabbed my wire brush and terminal cleaner, settling in for what was becoming a more complicated job than expected.
After dropping Lena at her office downtown, I’d brought her car back to diagnose it properly.
Now the afternoon sun slanted through the garage door, casting long shadows across the concrete floor as I worked.
The battery tested weak even after cleaning the terminals, not surprising given the date stamp showing it was nearly five years old.
But there was more: a frayed wiring harness near the alternator, worn belts that had hairline cracks spreading like spiderwebs, and brake pads that had maybe two months of city driving left in them, let alone these hills.
“You’ve been running too long without anyone looking under your hood,” I muttered to the car.
The thought shifted to its owner, Lena with her careful notes and plans, her indifference to the overlook’s morning rituals. She reminded me of this car in some ways, polished exterior hiding maintenance needed beneath the surface.
I checked the transmission fluid, low and darker than it should be.
Another neglected service interval. For someone so methodical about her work, she was surprisingly inattentive to her vehicle.
Or maybe that wasn’t surprising after all.
People who moved constantly often treated cars like disposable tools rather than investments worth maintaining.
The shop bell chimed, pulling me from my thoughts. Mrs. Donnelly appeared in the doorway, her small frame silhouetted against the bright afternoon light.
“Afternoon, Ethan. Is Old Reliable ready to go? I’m sorry I had to bring it in again so soon. I don’t know where that nail came from,” she said, fishing keys from her purse.
“All set,” I replied, wiping my hands on a shop rag as I moved toward her truck. “Don’t ever be sorry. She’s a beaut, and I love working on her.”
She smiled, the creases around her eyes deepening. “What do I owe you this time?”
“Nothing,” I said, thinking of the liaison stipend I was promised. “Labor’s covered by your lifetime of bringing me those peppermint candies.”
“You’re too good to me.” She shook her head but didn't argue further, we’ve had this dance too many times. Her eyes drifted to Lena’s car. “That the consultant’s vehicle? Heard she had trouble this morning.”
“Battery died. Terminals are corroded. Needs more work than I first thought.”
Mrs. Donnelly’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Karma, if you ask me. You can’t make a living upending other people’s lives, and think it won’t come back to you. You, Ethan Talbot, are a saint for even offering to touch that car.”
I chuckled. “I’m far from a saint, Mrs. Donnelly. I didn’t have it in me to turn her away when she came in here looking for help though. The way I see it, the faster she gets back to work, the faster she and the state are out of our lives.”
“Now that, I can agree with.” Mrs. Donnelly leaned against her truck. “Carol mentioned you’ve been spending quite a bit of time with her. Official liaison duty and all. What’s she like?”
“Just doing what the council asked,” I replied, suddenly very interested in wiping grease from my wrench. “She’s different than I expected in some ways, and exactly what I expected in others.”
“Mmhmm.” Her tone carried years of knowing me too well.
“Ellen at the diner says you two were having quite the conversation yesterday. Something about road drainage and seasonal traffic patterns.” She chuckled.
“Said you looked mighty cozy. I hope you know better than to let a pretty face fool you, Ethan Talbot.”
“We were working.” The heat that rose to my neck betrayed me. “The council’s paying me to help her understand local concerns.”
“Of course,” she said, her smile knowing.
“I will say it’s nice to see you engaged with something besides engines for a change.
” She patted my arm. “Whatever your feelings about the road project, or the road engineer, you seem more... present lately. Like you’ve stopped just going through the motions. ”
Her observation landed with unexpected weight. I hadn’t thought about it that way, but there was truth there.
The liaison role had pulled me out of the routine that had defined my days since Dad left for the home. Having someone challenge my thinking about the town, about what matters and why, had woken something I didn’t realize was dormant.
“She’s good at her job,” I said finally. “Smart as all get out. I just don’t know if there’s room for empathy with all the numbers she’s got flying around in that brain of hers.”
“Well, that’s quite a change from ‘body surgery for a broken finger,’” Mrs. Donnelly quoted my words from the town meeting back to me with perfect recall. “Mark says you nearly ran her out of town that first night.”
I winced, remembering my confrontational approach.
Mrs. Donnelly’s eyes softened. “I’m proud of you, Ethan. We all are. Standing up for the town like this. Not that you haven’t been doing that for years in your own way anyhow.”
She climbed into her truck with practiced ease despite her seventy-plus years, and I closed the door behind her. Through the open window, she added, “We’re all counting on you to keep that woman honest, keep her from destroying this town.”
After Mrs. Donnelly drove away, I returned to Lena’s car, my thoughts more tangled than the wiring I was inspecting.
I made a list of what needed fixing: new battery, wiring harness repair, belt replacement, brake service, transmission flush.
Nothing catastrophic, but more than a quick fix.
A full day’s work, maybe even two. She’d need alternative transportation until it was done.
I closed the hood, decision made. She should know the extent of the problems sooner rather than later. And maybe I would offer to drive her where she needed to go while I worked on the repairs. Just part of my liaison duties, helping the consultant stay mobile in our town. Nothing more than that.
But Mrs. Donnelly’s words echoed as I cleaned my tools,“you seem more present lately,” and I wondered what it was about Lena Mercer “the consultant” that had me breaking routine.
I shook my head. She just made things interesting, that was all.
The paper bag from the Diner felt warm against my palm as I climbed the metal staircase to my father’s old office, though I’d started thinking of it differently these past weeks.
Inside were two containers of Ellen’s beef stew, cornbread that still steamed through the paper wrapping, and an apple pie that she threw in.
“You work too hard,” Ellen had said. “Gotta remember to enjoy the little things in life. One day you’ll realize they were really the big things all along.”
I hesitated at the landing, suddenly questioning the wisdom of showing up unannounced with dinner, but the sound filtering through the door made my decision easier. It was piano music, complex and thoughtful, the same composer I heard that first night.
I knocked, trying for a rhythm that signaled friendly rather than urgent. The music stopped abruptly, followed by the sound of footsteps. When Lena opened the door, she was different from the professional I drove to the overlook with this morning.
Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and glasses I’d never seen before perched on her nose. She was wearing a faded university sweatshirt over leggings. She looked younger, less guarded, until recognition clicked her professional mask back into place.
“Ethan,” she said, surprise evident in her voice. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s your car. Nothing more than I suspected. Well, maybe a little more than I expected actually,” I replied, lifting the paper bag. “I brought you some dinner. It’s like they say–if you bring bad news, bring good food. I was grabbing something for myself anyhow.”
Her eyes moved from my face to the bag and back again, as if she were recalculating some internal equation. “You didn‘t have to do that.”
“I know. But Ellen’s beef stew is practically the soul of this town.” I held the to-go bag out to her. “Unless you’ve already eaten.”
“No, I...” She glanced over her shoulder at the apartment behind her. “I lost track of time working. Come in.”
“I, well…Ok.”
The apartment was transformed from the tidy space she first moved into.
The dining table had disappeared beneath layers of maps, printouts, and handwritten notes.
Colored markers sat uncapped beside a large, format draft of what appeared to be a revised road plan.
Her laptop glowed in the corner, surrounded by coffee mugs in various states of emptiness.
It wasn’t messy exactly, there was a clear organization to the chaos, but it was lived in now, claimed.
“Sorry about the...” She gestured vaguely at the work materials. “Let me clear a space.”
“No rush,” I said, moving toward the kitchen counter to unpack the food for her.
She nodded gratefully and set up an impromptu dinner on the low table in front of the couch.
“This smells amazing,” she admitted as I opened the containers. “I meant to grab something earlier but got caught up in revisions.”
“Ellen’s stew is legendary. Secret recipe she won’t share even with Marianne, and they’ve been friends since elementary school.” I handed her a container and plastic silverware. “How’d your meeting go?”
“It went as was to be expected.” She accepted the food, settling onto the couch.
“They are apprehensive about any kind of targeted approach that wouldn’t include widening of the road.”