The motorcycles came first.
Mack owned three.
One modern touring bike.
One old restoration project.
And the motorcycle he had ridden during the first day Eli found him.
The black touring bike went to the long-bearded biker’s daughter.
The restoration project went to a local trade-school program.
The diner-day motorcycle went to Eli.
Eli refused.
Mack ignored him.
“You already have one.”
“Then sell it.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Mack looked at him.
“Because I want you to have it.”
“Sentimental old man.”
“Correct.”
The red lunchbox was already Eli’s.
The gloves?
Mack struggled.
He wanted to be buried with them.
Then changed his mind.
“They belong with the story.”
“What does that mean?”
“You decide.”
Eli later donated one glove to the county historical exhibit and kept the patched one.
The photograph stayed inside the lunchbox.
Mack wrote letters too.
That part made everyone nervous.
Walter had established a family tradition in which letters usually meant somebody was dead and a secret was about to ruin lunch.
Eli found Mack writing at the kitchen table.
“No.”
Mack looked up.
“What?”
“No mysterious envelopes.”
“I’m writing instructions.”
“Say them now.”
“Some things are easier on paper.”
“That sentence has caused this family catastrophic problems.”
Mack laughed.
Still wrote them.
Eli found the letters after the funeral.
None contained secret children.
He considered that a success.
One was for Eli’s mother.
You had every reason not to trust me. Thank you for letting me earn some.
One for each biker.
Mostly insults.
The long-bearded biker laughed for fifteen minutes while crying.
One for Eli.
Eli waited a week before opening it.
He was alone in Mack’s garage.
The red lunchbox sat on the workbench.
Inside, the patched glove.
Brass key.
Photographs.
Letters.
He opened Mack’s.
Kid,
If you’re reading this, apparently I finally lost the argument with my heart. Don’t let the others tell stories that make me sound dignified. I wasn’t.
Eli smiled immediately.
I spent too much of my life believing love was something you proved by preventing every bad thing from happening. That made me controlling with your dad and ridiculous with you.
Walter was better at understanding that you can’t protect people from living. He was worse at understanding that you can’t protect them by keeping secrets either.
We all have specialties.
Eli laughed.
Then continued.
I am sorry for the years I missed. I know they were not entirely my choice, but some choices I made earlier helped create the distance that made missing them possible.