Early in March she loaded Matthew in her Caprice for a trip to visit an ailing aunt in the next town. A few seconds after she turned the key, the engine convulsed once and died in a cloud of gassy smoke. The baby made a noise and shook his fist toward the dashboard. It was a Sunday, so she couldn’t call Barrilleaux’s filling station for advice, and no one else would come out for free. Going into the house, she put a hand on the phone, noting that the motion felt inevitable. She called Paul, and he said that he’d walk over, that he needed the exercise. In twenty minutes she went out to wait by the car and saw him walking up, his left hand turned backward, his hair short and wayward.

He asked to hold the baby and she gave it over, hovering close, watching Paul for steadiness. “He’s a keeper,” he said, putting the baby’s face against his neck. He had been with Matthew only a few times. “Now that I can get up, maybe I can see him some more.”

She looked at Paul’s face as he studied the baby’s features, and she bit the inside of her cheeks, afraid he was wanting the boy too much.

“Give me a call when you need to,” she told him. “Now, let me have him back, and I’ll get in the car and try to start it so you can listen.”

Paul opened the hood and thrust it up with his right hand while Colette turned the key. After a while, he let the hood drop.

“Well?” she said, getting out.

“If we had three dollars, we could have a Mass said for it.”

She sat against the hood and put the baby over her shoulder, patting it. “Oh no.”

“Yeah. It’s a timing belt. Two hundred dollars at least. I’d try to fix it, but I pawned most of my tools.” He looked behind him down the street. “I can’t hardly hold a wrench, much less turn it.”

“You’re walking straight. That’s better.”

His head drifted on his neck a bit. “I got to concentrate on it, make that left leg go. Sometimes I forget, and I’ll step in a circle. It’s the damnedest thing.”

“I’m sorry you had to walk over. I forgot your daddy’s car isn’t running, either.”

“Might as well walk,” he said. “Can’t dance anymore.” He gave her a half smile. “Can’t get in any trouble.”

She changed shoulders with the baby. “You want to come in for a cup of coffee?”

He looked up at her porch. “I don’t feel so good. I’m gonna head on back.”

“It’s a bitch, taking so long for you to get straight.”