Evelyn explained that Mara had placed my original note in a separate envelope. Later, when I received a package containing that note and the message that Mara wanted me to keep the patch, I'd misunderstood what Evelyn meant.
“She wanted you to keep being her father,” Evelyn whispered. “She wasn't sending the patch back to reject you. She was telling me she wanted you to have it when she was ready to face you.”
I stared.
The words seemed impossible.
Evelyn continued.
“I didn't explain it well. I thought if I kept saying she needed time, eventually she'd find her way.”
Her eyes filled.
“Then she got sick.”
For a moment, the room was silent.
Rosie looked between us.
She seemed to understand that something important was happening, but not every detail.
I reached toward her hand.
She took it.
Then I looked toward Evelyn.
“I could have called again.”
The older woman shook her head.
“You respected what she asked.”
“I could have driven down.”
“She wasn't ready.”
“I could have—”
“Raymond.”
I stopped.
Evelyn looked directly at me.
“We can spend the rest of our lives listing all the things we might have done.”
Her voice broke.
“But Mara's letter is here because she didn't want Rosie growing up inside our regrets.”
For a long moment, I sat without moving.
Then I looked toward my granddaughter.
She was quietly drawing circles on a paper napkin.
The little girl had no idea how much wisdom her mother's final request contained.
She hadn't been sent to judge me.
Or to decide whether I'd been a good father.
She'd been sent because there was still a chance for something beautiful to happen.
And Mara, even while dying, had wanted us to take that chance.
That afternoon, Evelyn invited me to their house.
I left the motorcycle at Lou's Diner with the owner's permission and rode in the pickup beside Rosie, who insisted I sit in the middle of the front bench seat so she could ask questions without shouting.
The truck smelled of old upholstery, peppermint candies, and the faint scent of motor oil.
Rosie had a thousand questions.
Did I really ride nine hundred miles?
Was the motorcycle loud enough to scare horses?
Could I fix a broken toaster?
Had I ever met a movie star?
Why did some bikers wear helmets shaped differently from other helmets?
And was it true that I'd once eaten six hamburgers in a single sitting?
I answered as many as I could.
For the record, the hamburger story was an exaggeration.
It was five.
Rosie laughed so hard that Evelyn had to remind her to sit properly in the seat belt.