I had a restoration deadline that week, but Bishop had already offered to cover the final inspection.
“I'll be there,” I said.
Rosie became quiet.
Then asked.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
My chest tightened.
I looked toward the patch.
Then answered.
“Promise.”
I planned the trip carefully.
I arranged to drive rather than ride the motorcycle because the weather forecast suggested rain along part of the route.
I left early.
Booked a motel for the night before the exhibition.
And expected to reach Holbrook with plenty of time.
Then, halfway through the journey, my truck developed an electrical problem.
The dashboard lights flickered.
The engine began losing power.
And I managed to pull safely into a service area before it stalled.
I stared at the steering wheel.
For a moment, I wanted to shout.
I was a mechanic.
I'd spent decades keeping other people's vehicles running.
And the one time I needed my own truck to cooperate, it decided to become a problem.
I checked what I could safely inspect.
The fault wasn't something I could repair immediately on the roadside.
So I called for assistance.
Then I called Evelyn.
She answered.
“Raymond?”
“Hey.”
She heard something in my voice.
“What's wrong?”
“Truck broke down.”
For a moment, she was quiet.
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you?”
I told her.
She sighed.
“That's still a long way.”
“I know.”
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Evelyn asked.
“Have you told Rosie?”
I closed my eyes.
“Not yet.”
“Tell her.”
I swallowed.
“I know.”
She continued gently.
“Don't let her spend the whole morning wondering why you aren't here.”
I took a breath.
Then asked to speak with my granddaughter.
Rosie came to the phone.
“Grandpa?”
“Hi, sweetheart.”
“Are you almost here?”
My throat tightened.
“Not yet.”
She became quiet.
I explained that the truck had broken down.
That I was safe.
That help was coming.
And that I was working on another way to reach her.
For several seconds, she didn't speak.
Then asked.
“Are you coming?”
I looked toward the stalled truck.
I wanted to promise I would make the exhibition.
But I didn't know whether that was possible.
So I answered honestly.
“I'm doing everything I can. But I might be late.”
Rosie's voice became very small.
“Oh.”
I swallowed.
“I'm sorry.”
For a moment, she remained quiet.
Then whispered.
“Mom used to get sick on days she promised to come to things.”
My chest tightened.
I closed my eyes.
“I know that was hard.”
She didn't answer.
I continued.
“Rosie, this isn't because I don't want to be there.”
“I know.”
But she didn't sound as though she believed it.