“Prepared?”
“Paranoid.”
Ray laughed.
“He'd make her wear knee pads inside if I'd let him.”
Ray glanced toward Lily's scraped knee.
“Maybe he had a point.”
Amy laughed.
That sound made Lily look over proudly.
Then the girl turned too sharply and nearly tipped again.
Both adults moved instinctively.
Lily recovered.
“I'm okay!”
Amy shook her head.
“See?”
Ray smiled.
“Maybe two sets of knee pads.”
Amy looked at his hand again.
“She really got you.”
“Apparently.”
“You can take it off.”
Ray looked down.
“No.”
Amy smiled.
“Okay.”
Lily finally stopped beside them.
She looked at Ray.
Then his motorcycle.
“Can I see it?”
Ray glanced at Amy.
“From here.”
Amy answered immediately.
“Do not touch anything hot.”
Ray nodded.
“Good rule.”
Lily walked closer.
The black motorcycle towered over her.
She stared at the chrome engine.
“Do you sleep on it?”
Ray laughed.
“No.”
“Where do you sleep?”
“House.”
She looked disappointed.
“You look like you live on it.”
Amy covered a laugh.
Ray looked offended.
“Thank you?”
Lily walked around the motorcycle.
“What are those?”
“Saddlebags.”
“What do you carry?”
“Tools.”
“Food?”
“Sometimes.”
“Band-Aids?”
Ray looked at the pink strip on his hand.
“No.”
Lily shook her head.
“You should.”
Amy laughed.
Ray surrendered.
“I probably should.”
The diner door opened again.
A waitress called:
“Amy, table six needs you.”
Amy looked toward the building.
Then Ray.
“I'm working another twenty minutes.”
She hesitated.
“Would you mind if Lily sits at the outside table while I finish?”
Ray raised his hands.
“That's your decision.”
“I mean, you're not obligated—”
“I’m waiting on coffee anyway.”
Amy looked surprised.
“You were coming inside?”
“Was.”
“What happened?”
Ray nodded toward the bicycle.
Amy smiled.
“Right.”
She pointed toward a picnic table beside the front window.
“Lily stays there.”
Lily frowned.
“Mom.”
“No.”
“But—”
“Table.”
The girl sighed with the exaggerated misery only children could produce.
“Fine.”
Ray sat at the far end of the outdoor table.
Lily sat opposite.
Her bicycle leaned against the fence.
Amy returned inside.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Ray appreciated the silence.
Lily did not.
“Do bikers have jobs?”
Ray looked at her.
“Yes.”
“What job?”
“I repair motorcycles.”
“That makes sense.”
“Glad you approve.”
“Do you fix bicycles too?”
“Apparently.”
“Do you have friends?”
Ray laughed.
“Occasionally.”
“Are they bikers?”
“Some.”
“Do they have beards?”
“Some.”
“Are they scary?”
“Very.”
She smiled.
“Like you?”
Ray leaned forward.
“I’m terrifying.”
Lily stared at the pink Band-Aid.
“No.”
Ray sighed.
“My reputation is ruined.”
The waitress brought him coffee.
“Ray.”
He nodded.
“Thanks, Maria.”
Lily immediately looked interested.
“You come here a lot?”
Ray took a sip.
“Too much.”
“Mom works here.”
“I know.”
“Do you know her?”
“Seen her.”
“That means yes.”
“No.”
Children had their own evidentiary standards.
Lily pulled the little toy horse from her purse.
Set it on the table.
“This is Daisy.”
Ray looked at it.
“Hello, Daisy.”
“She doesn't talk.”
“Good.”
Lily frowned.
“That's rude.”
Ray apologized to the plastic horse.
“Sorry.”
She accepted.
The sunset deepened.
Cars passed along the highway.
The neon sign hummed louder as daylight faded.
Ray's coffee cooled.
Lily asked about motorcycles.
Ray answered.
She asked about tattoos.
He told her some had stories.
She asked whether one of them was for his daughter.
Ray paused.
Then rolled his left sleeve slightly higher.
A small tattoo sat above his forearm.
A simple handwritten word.
Emily
Lily touched the air near it but not the skin.
“That's her?”
“Her name.”
“Pretty.”
“Yeah.”
“Did she look like me?”
“No.”
“What did she look like?”
Ray pulled out his wallet.
He almost stopped himself.
Then opened it.
The photograph had been there nineteen years.
Emily at twenty-two.
Brown hair.
Green eyes.
Standing beside the same motorcycle Ray still rode, except the paint was newer then.
She was laughing at something outside the frame.
Ray handed Lily the photograph carefully.
Lily studied it.
“She's pretty.”
“Yeah.”
“She's holding your helmet.”
“She stole it.”
Lily giggled.
“Did you get mad?”
“Pretended to.”
“Was she your only kid?”
“Yes.”
Lily handed the photograph back.
“Mom says I'm enough kids for three parents.”
Ray laughed loudly enough that people inside looked through the window.
“I believe her.”
Lily smiled proudly.
Ray slid the picture back into his wallet.
His fingers paused.
For years, he had avoided talking about Emily because every memory felt like opening a wound just to prove it remained there.
Yet telling Lily about the mailbox had not hurt the way he expected.
The memory had arrived with laughter attached.
He had forgotten that grief could carry both.
Amy returned after her shift.
She removed her apron.
“You two survive?”
Lily said:
“Ray is my friend.”
Ray nearly choked on coffee.
Amy smiled.
“That was fast.”
Lily nodded.
“I fixed his heart.”
Ray looked at Amy.
“I have not confirmed the repair.”
Lily pointed at the Band-Aid.
“It's working.”
Ray looked down.
Still there.
He smiled.
“Maybe.”
Amy gathered Lily's purse.
“Ready?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Mom.”
“School tomorrow.”
Lily groaned.
Ray stood.
His knees complained again.
He ignored them.
Amy looked at him.