“I don't know.”
“You're going back.”
“Yes.”
Rosa sighed.
“I knew it.”
Frank looked at the empty road ahead.
“Something's wrong.”
“Besides the obvious?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“She doesn't look like someone who's about to lose a garage.”
Rosa frowned.
“What does that look like?”
“Someone who's already lost everything except the garage.”
Neither spoke after that.
That evening, Maggie sat alone at her kitchen table.
She opened the envelope.
The bank's letter contained a final demand.
Thirty days.
Thirty days to pay everything she owed or surrender the property.
Maggie folded the letter carefully.
Then she placed it beneath the coffee mug.
She whispered Roy's name.
“I'll make it.”
But for the first time, she wasn't sure she believed herself.
The following week, the Iron Road Riders began finding reasons to pass Carter’s Garage.
Frank claimed his front brake needed adjustment.
It didn't.
Rosa said her clutch felt strange.
It didn't.
Tom, the youngest of the four, arrived with a perfectly healthy motorcycle and asked Maggie to “listen to something.”
She listened.
“You've got nothing wrong with it.”
Tom looked embarrassed.
“Okay.”
“Why are you here?”
He glanced at Frank.
Frank looked away.
Maggie folded her arms.
“You boys are terrible liars.”
Rosa stepped into the garage.
“We're worried.”
“About my health?”
“No.”
“My motorcycle skills?”
“Absolutely not.”
“My coffee?”
“That should concern everybody.”
Maggie smiled despite herself.
Then Frank said, “About the garage.”
Her smile disappeared.
“I don't need charity.”
“We didn't offer charity.”
“You were about to.”
“No.”
Frank walked closer.
“We're offering business.”
“What business?”
“Fix our bikes.”
“I already do.”
“Then let us pay.”
“I charge fair prices.”
“No. You charge nothing.”
Maggie looked at him.
“I charge what people can afford.”
“And what happens when you can't afford something?”
“I figure it out.”
Frank shook his head.
“You can't figure out eleven missed mortgage payments.”
The garage became silent.
Maggie slowly put down her wrench.
“You went through my things?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
Frank pointed toward the kitchen.
“The letter.”
Maggie's eyes hardened.
“That's private.”
“You're right.”
He stepped back.
“I shouldn't have mentioned it.”
Maggie turned away.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Tom said softly, “My father died when I was nineteen.”
Maggie looked at him.
“He left me a broken motorcycle and twelve hundred dollars in debt.”
Tom smiled faintly.
“I thought I had to handle everything alone.”
“And?”
“I almost lost my house.”
Maggie said nothing.
“Someone helped me,” Tom continued. “Didn't ask for anything. Just helped.”
Maggie looked at the floor.
“I don't need saving.”
“We know.”
Frank's voice was quiet.
“That isn't what we're trying to do.”
“Then what are you trying to do?”
“Make sure you don't have to choose between pride and survival.”
Maggie stared at him.
Her eyes were wet.
She turned away before anyone could notice.
“You boys drink coffee?”
Rosa smiled.
“Now we're getting somewhere.”
They sat around Maggie's kitchen table.