Each push of the pedal sent a dull ache through his thighs, and each gust of wind stabbed through the layers he had left for himself after giving his jacket to her.
The scarf wrapped around her shoulders kept her warmer than he was, but she was quiet now, hands clasped in her lap, her body rocking gently with the movement of the bike. Lionel could hear her humming something soft and shaky, like a lullaby without words.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t want to break whatever small peace she’d found. Besides, if he opened his mouth now, he wasn’t sure what would come out. A breath, a complaint, or the beginnings of regret.
But regret wasn’t the right word. He didn’t regret stopping. Not even as the first icy flurries began to fall, brushing against his face like sandpaper.
He regretted the world that made the choice so hard. That forced him to decide between helping someone and keeping a roof over his own head. That was the part that stung the most.
They passed through the edge of town slowly. The streetlights were sparse out here, and the only sound was the faint hum of tires on frost-slick pavement.
At one point, a pickup truck slowed behind them, headlights casting their long shadows forward. The truck edged close, then passed, its driver glaring down at them as if to say something, but choosing instead to speed up and disappear into the dark.
Lionel didn’t look up. He knew that look. He had seen it more times than he could count, like his presence on a bike with an elderly white woman behind him needed to be explained.
As they reached a narrow bridge over a frozen creek, the bike began to wobble. Lionel pulled to a stop, breath steaming hard, and helped her off gently.
“Let’s rest a minute,” he said, voice raspy from the cold.
She nodded without argument, sitting on the concrete ledge of the bridge, one hand resting on her purse, the other rubbing her temple slowly.
“I used to walk these hills,” she said suddenly, eyes searching the trees as if they might confirm it. “Long ago, my husband built our garden himself. He used to say, ‘The best soil is always the hardest to reach.’ Funny, isn’t it?”
Lionel sat beside her, glancing at the sky, now darkening fast.
“That’s nice,” he said, unsure what else to offer.
She looked at him with a curious warmth.
“You remind me of him a little. Not in the face, but in the way you don’t say much.”
He didn’t know how to respond to that. He kept his eyes on the frost-covered branches across the creek.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, reaching into her bag. “I might have something.”
“No,” Lionel said quickly. “I’m good. We’ll get going again in a minute.”
As she shifted her coat, Lionel caught sight of a small pendant resting on her chest. It was silver, oval-shaped, glinting under the faint light. Without thinking, he leaned closer.
“What’s that?” he asked, pointing gently.
She looked down.