“She was sixteen.”
“That’s old.”
Marcus nodded.
“Ancient.”
Emily laughed softly.
Marcus continued:
“She asked me something.”
“What?”
“She said, ‘Dad, you tell people not to judge you because you ride motorcycles and look scary.’”
Lily nodded.
“You do look scary.”
“I know.”
“She said, ‘So why are you judging yourself because of one scar?’”
Lily went very still.
Marcus looked at her.
“I did not have an answer.”
Lily whispered:
“My scar is bigger.”
“Maybe.”
“I’m a girl.”
“Yep.”
“Hair’s missing.”
“Mine was too.”
“It looks worse on me.”
Marcus did not say no.
Instead:
“It matters to you more.”
Lily frowned.
“What?”
“My scar bothered me more than anybody else’s scar would.”
“Because it was on me.”
Lily understood enough to look away.
Marcus continued.
“You don’t have to like it today.”
“You don’t have to show it tomorrow.”
“You don’t owe anyone a smile because surgery worked.”
Emily’s eyes filled.
That sentence was for her too.
Lily asked:
“Then what do I do?”
Marcus shrugged.
“Heal.”
“That’s boring.”
“Most important things are.”
“Do I have to take hood off?”
“No.”
“Ever?”
Marcus paused.
“That’s your business.”
Lily looked at him suspiciously.
“What if I never do?”
“Then you’ll get hot in July.”
She laughed.
A full small laugh.
Marcus smiled.
“There.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Lily narrowed her eyes.
“Did you come here to make me laugh?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
Marcus looked toward Ellen.
“She’s mean.”
Ellen nodded.
“Brain surgery does that.”
Lily smiled again.
Then, unexpectedly:
“Come closer.”
Emily froze.
Marcus waited.
“How close?”
“Chair.”
He entered.
Slowly.
Sat in the chair three feet away.
Lily stared at his scar.
Then at his tattoos.
“What’s that?”
She pointed at a tattoo on his forearm.
“A wrench.”
“Why?”
“I fix motorcycles.”
“That’s dumb.”
Marcus looked offended.
“Your bedside manner is terrible.”
Lily grinned.
He stayed twenty-three minutes.
Not longer.
He talked about nothing important.
Motorcycles.
His garage dog, Gus, who was scared of cardboard boxes.
A customer who once filled engine oil in wrong opening.
Leah, his daughter, now thirty-one and still “bossy.”
He never asked Lily to show him the scar.
When he stood to leave, Lily spoke.
“Marcus?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you come tomorrow?”