“You call me.”
“Yes.”
Kendra became more protective.
The biker group respected it.
Unexpectedly, they became the people most determined not to exploit Adeline.
The leader told every rider:
“No social media.”
No photographs unless Kendra approved.
No bringing grieving relatives.
No asking the child for messages.
One younger rider protested.
“What if Claire says something?”
“Then Claire can figure out how to text.”
That ended discussion.
The injured biker remained hospitalized for nine days.
Adeline visited once more.
Only once.
Kendra decided more could become unhealthy.
On the second visit, the biker gave Adeline a small gift.
A metal motorcycle pin.
Not expensive.
He placed it inside a pink jewelry box.
“For the princess.”
Adeline looked delighted.
Kendra frowned.
“Nothing sharp?”
“No.”
The biker smiled.
“Her mother is terrifying.”
Adeline nodded seriously.
“She is.”
Kendra laughed.
Before leaving, Adeline became quiet.
“Claire says you're supposed to give me something.”
The biker frowned.
“What?”
“She says it's under your seat.”
“Motorcycle seat?”
Adeline nodded.
His face changed.
The wrecked motorcycle had been transported to a club member's garage.
“What is under there?”
The biker whispered.
“No idea.”
The leader looked at him.
“Could be registration.”
The injured man shook his head.
“I kept paperwork in the saddlebag.”
After Adeline left, curiosity became unbearable.
The leader went to the garage.
The motorcycle was badly damaged.
He removed the seat.
Taped beneath the rear section was a small leather pouch.
Old.
Weather-stained.
The leader called the injured biker immediately.
“You put this here?”
“No.”
Inside was a silver locket.
Claire’s.
The one she had worn when she died.
The biker believed it had been lost in the crash six years earlier.
The leader brought it to the hospital.
The injured biker stared for several minutes.
“How did it get there?”
No one knew.
Perhaps it lodged somewhere in the damaged motorcycle from the earlier crash and had somehow remained through repairs?
Impossible.
Different motorcycle.
The bike from Claire's accident had been totaled and sold as salvage.
This motorcycle had been purchased three years later.
The injured biker opened the locket.
Inside was a tiny photograph of Claire and her brother as children.
On the opposite side was engraved:
LIVE ENOUGH FOR BOTH OF US.
The injured biker began crying before anyone spoke.
The leader sat beside him.
“Did you know that was inside?”
“No.”
“Did Claire?”
The biker laughed through tears.
“She had it engraved after my father died.”
Same lesson.
Living instead of turning grief into a permanent sentence.
The injured biker called Kendra.
She almost did not answer.
When he explained, she sat at the kitchen table.
“No.”
“I know.”
“Adeline could not know that.”
“I know.”
“How did the locket get there?”
“I don't know.”
“You put it there and forgot.”