Wade sat beside the bed.
"Want me to tell you a story?"
My son shook his head.
"Want me to race the cars?"
Another shake.
Wade considered that.
"Want me to just sit here?"
Eli looked toward him.
Then he nodded.
So Wade sat.
He didn't touch the toys.
He didn't try to make Eli laugh.
He simply remained beside the bed while the television played quietly in the background.
After several minutes, Eli reached down.
His little hand touched Wade's shoulder.
The enormous biker looked up.
"What is it, buddy?"
Eli whispered, "Don't go."
Wade's face changed.
He placed his hand gently on the side of the bed.
"I'm right here."
My son closed his eyes.
A few minutes later, he fell asleep.
Wade stayed until the nurse needed to continue Eli's care.
When he finally stood, his knees cracked loudly.
Under ordinary circumstances, that would have made Eli laugh.
But the room remained quiet.
Wade looked toward me.
"Some days, company is enough."
I nodded.
I couldn't speak.
He gave me a small, understanding smile.
Then he left.
I sat beside my sleeping son and cried.
Not because anything especially terrible had happened that morning.
But because someone had understood that he didn't have to fix the moment to make it easier to bear.
In February, a winter storm swept through the region.
Snow collected along the roads, traffic slowed, and several hospital appointments were rescheduled. The volunteers who didn't need to come in were encouraged to remain home until conditions improved.
I assumed Wade wouldn't arrive.
At nine-fifty, Eli looked toward the clock.
"Is he coming?"
I stroked his head.
"The roads are bad, sweetheart."
He frowned.
"His motorcycle can drive in snow."
I smiled.
"Even if it could, he wouldn't ride it here in this weather."
Eli considered that.
"Maybe his truck."
"Maybe."
Ten o'clock passed.
Then ten-fifteen.
My son looked disappointed.
I told him that Wade would probably come when the roads were safer.
At ten-thirty, the nurse entered.
She was smiling.
"Somebody has a phone call."
Eli looked up.
"For me?"
She nodded.
The hospital had arranged a brief call through its volunteer program.
When I answered, Wade's gravelly voice filled the room.
"Is this the headquarters of the fastest racing team in North Carolina?"
Eli gasped.
"WADE!"
The biker laughed.
"Well, hello there, champion."
"Where are you?"
"At home, hiding from the snow."
Eli looked offended.
"Are you scared?"
"Terrified."
My son giggled.
Wade continued.
"The snowflakes are bigger than my motorcycle."
"That's silly."
"You're telling me."