Noah’s hands shook.
“I keep waiting to feel certain nothing bad will happen after.”
Her expression changed.
He continued.
“I know that’s impossible.”
“I know marrying you doesn’t make life safe.”
“It just makes it ours on paper too.”
Hannah’s eyes filled.
Noah laughed nervously.
“I should get ring.”
“Yes.”
He scrambled up.
Nearly tripped over wood panel.
Hannah laughed.
He returned.
Kneeling not planned.
He did anyway.
“Will you marry me?”
She looked at backward bookshelf.
Then at him.
“Yes.”
They married eight months later.
Small ceremony.
Miller’s Roadhouse hosted reception.
The place had been remodeled, but the parking lot remained.
Noah rode black motorcycle there before ceremony.
Not for spectacle.
He wanted Jack present in only way that did not pretend death was reversible.
Rachel arrived early.
She saw motorcycle parked by old spot.
Touched tank.
“You brought him.”
Noah looked.
“I brought bike.”
Rachel nodded.
“Right.”
Mara came from Seattle.
She cried before vows.
Ray, now in his late seventies and somehow still loud enough for three rooms, attended wearing suit over biker boots.
Ruth Miller came from retirement.
Adam’s old rescue squad sent two members who had known him.
One was a man named Pete Lawson.
Noah knew Pete vaguely.
Older paramedic.
Pete hugged Rachel.
Then stood in front of Noah.
“You got his eyes.”
Noah smiled.
“Everybody says.”
Pete looked at bike.
“That drawing.”
“Yeah.”
Pete laughed.
“Adam would hate it.”
Noah’s smile froze slightly.
Pete clarified:
“He hated motorcycles.”
Rachel burst out laughing.
“Thank you.”
Everyone relaxed.
During reception Pete approached Noah privately.
“I have something.”
He handed a small plastic case.
Inside was a flash drive.
Noah frowned.
“What is it?”
“We digitized old training tapes last year.”
“Your dad appears in one.”
Noah stopped breathing.
Pete continued.
“I asked Rachel first whether okay.”
Noah looked toward her.
She stood across room.
Already crying.
Of course she knew.
Pete said:
“It’s nothing dramatic.”
“He teaches airway positioning.”
“Maybe twelve minutes.”
Noah’s hands shook.
“His voice?”
“Yes.”
That word almost broke him.
When Noah was eight, he had told Jack he feared forgetting Adam’s voice.
He had watched family videos later.
There were some.
But most contained noise.
Birthday parties.
Outdoor wind.
Adam speaking behind camera.
This was different.
Twelve uninterrupted minutes.
Adult Adam.
Working.
Thinking.
Explaining.
Pete said:
“There’s another part.”
Noah looked.
“After training camera kept running.”
“Adam talks to crew.”
“About wreck.”
Noah’s pulse changed.
“Which?”
Pete nodded toward motorcycle.
“That one.”
Noah could not open file that night.
Wedding day belonged to living.
Hannah understood.
They watched two weeks later.
Rachel came over.