“You’re right.”
Rebecca did not expect.
He continued:
“I should’ve asked.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
She exhaled.
“I can afford electricity.”
“Okay.”
“Barely.”
“Okay.”
“But I can.”
“Understood.”
Then he asked:
“What can we do?”
Rebecca thought.
“Parking.”
“What?”
“Families here are paying sixteen dollars a day.”
Raymond immediately understood.
“Hospital foundation?”
“Yes.”
“Can donate?”
“Yes.”
He smiled.
“That we can do.”
Within a month, the Iron Covenant funded six months of parking vouchers for pediatric renal families.
No press.
Raymond insisted.
Rebecca began to understand something about the club.
Their jackets were loud.
Their engines louder.
Their kindness, when done correctly, tried not to be.
Then Mark returned.
He did not walk into hospital.
He called.
Rebecca stared at the number for three rings.
Then answered.
“What?”
“Becca.”
Her stomach tightened.
“Don't call me that.”
“Rebecca.”
“What do you want?”
“I heard what’s going on.”
“Lily has been sick for a year.”
“I mean with the bikers.”
Of course.
“How?”
“It’s online.”
Rebecca froze.
“What?”
“Somebody posted them outside the hospital.”
Not club.
Probably stranger.
A photo.
Motorcycles.
Caption speculation.
Rebecca’s face burned.
Mark continued.
“My fiancée saw it.”
Rebecca almost laughed.
“That’s your concern?”
“No.”
“I’m saying people are talking.”
“Goodbye.”
“Wait.”
She did.
Against judgment.
Mark inhaled.
“I’ll get tested.”
Rebecca said nothing.
“I was scared.”
Silence.
“I said terrible things.”
“Yes.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“I've been thinking.”
“Since people started talking?”
“That isn’t fair.”
Rebecca laughed.
“Fair?”
Mark’s voice sharpened.
“I called to help.”
“No.”