THE SATURN’S ENGINE rattled like a penny in an old tin can. The car was a junker—its headlights pale and off-kilter. It was a temporary fix that had become a permanent mode of transportation. Jack had insisted that when they had the cash they’d buy themselves a pair of fancy wheels—a ride that had that new-car scent. And then Abby broke her arm. Charlie got bronchitis. Aimee needed a tooth filled. Years passed; that secondhand Saturn became their lifeline, but Jack refused to lose hope. He collected loose change in one of Aimee’s old Mason jars, squirreled away an extra dollar here and there.
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