The woman was quiet for a moment.
“My son used to say something similar about his father,” she said finally, and there was something in her voice that made Luis decide not to ask any further questions about that.
When the repair was finished, he lowered the hood and wiped his hands. He started toward the small desk near the bay entrance where receipts were written up. She followed, opening her handbag.
And then she stopped.
She searched one compartment, then another, then patted the sides of the bag and searched again. A small crease formed between her brows. She looked up at him with an expression of genuine distress.
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