For several seconds, we remained quiet.
Then she smiled.
“Besides, you're here now.”
I looked toward the little girl riding beneath the afternoon sun.
She turned at the corner.
Then shouted.
“GRANDPA! WATCH THIS!”
I laughed.
“I'm watching!”
Evelyn smiled.
For a moment, she looked younger.
Then whispered.
“Mara would be happy.”
I nodded slowly.
“I hope so.”
The older woman took my hand.
“She would.”
And for the first time in years, I allowed myself to believe it without immediately searching for a reason I didn't deserve to.
The idea for the memorial ride came from Bishop.
He called one afternoon while I was closing the Arizona workshop.
“Gravel?”
“Yeah?”
“You remember that fundraiser we used to do for injured riders?”
I smiled.
“Of course.”
“Well, I've been thinking.”
That sentence usually meant Bishop had already made a decision and wanted me to believe I was being consulted.
I laughed.
“That's dangerous.”
“Shut up and listen.”
I grinned.
He explained that the Iron Ravens wanted to organize a new annual fundraiser supporting families of emergency medical workers who died or became seriously injured in the line of duty.
The money would be administered through an established charitable partner.
The club wouldn't attempt to manage complicated financial assistance on its own.
It would raise funds, contribute volunteer time, and direct donations through an organization equipped to provide appropriate support.
Bishop had been thinking about Evan.
He remembered how kindly Evan treated the club members.
How he used to answer first-aid questions during community rides.
And how he once spent an entire afternoon helping an elderly rider obtain medical care after the man became ill during a charity event.
Bishop wanted the first fundraiser to honor Evan's memory.
Then he suggested something else.
“What if we finish at Lou's Diner?”
I became quiet.
“Route 66?”
“Yeah.”
For several seconds, I didn't answer.
Then Bishop continued.
“Lou says he'd be willing to help organize the meal.”
I looked toward the patch over my heart.
For a moment, I remembered Rosie sitting beside me with the needle.
The frightened waitress.
The trucker.
The yellow envelope.
And the first time somebody called me Grandpa.
I swallowed.
“Why there?”
Bishop's voice softened.
“Because that's where your family found you, Ray.”
I closed my eyes.
For several seconds, I remained quiet.
Then whispered.
“Let me talk to Evelyn.”
Bishop nodded.
“Of course.”
I ended the call.
Then sat at the workbench for a long time.
I wasn't sure how I felt about turning something so personal into a public event.
The diner belonged to memories that still hurt.
Mara and Evan laughing over pancakes.