His smile softened.
"She would've been glad he got good news."
I nodded.
"I think so too."
He closed his hand around the little red car.
And for the first time, I saw him hold it without looking as though the memory might crush him.
Eli didn't leave the hospital immediately.
There were still treatments to complete, appointments to attend, and days when he needed more care than we could manage at home. The word remission had changed our understanding of his progress, but it had not erased the months of treatment ahead.
I learned that joy didn't have to mean pretending everything was finished.
I could celebrate what the doctors had told us while continuing to listen carefully to the treatment plan. I could be relieved and frightened at the same time. I could imagine Eli's future without assuming that every question had already been answered.
Wade understood.
He kept coming at ten o'clock.
The races continued.
Sometimes Lily's red car won.
Sometimes Eli's blue car crossed the finish line first.
And sometimes the green truck mysteriously defeated both of them, usually because Wade invented some ridiculous technical explanation involving rocket fuel or illegal broccoli.
Eli laughed at all of it.
The hospital room slowly changed as his care progressed.
Some of the decorations came down.
We packed away books and toys we no longer needed every day.
The wooden racetrack remained near his bed until the final morning of one particularly long hospital stay, when a nurse helped us gather our belongings.
Eli looked toward the door.
"Is Wade coming?"
I smiled.
"He said he would."
At ten o'clock, the biker arrived.
He stopped in the doorway when he saw the packed bags.
For a moment, he didn't speak.
Then he grinned.
"Looks like somebody's escaping."
Eli laughed.
"I'm going home!"
Wade raised both hands.
"Well, that's just terrible news for the racing department."
My son looked surprised.
"Why?"
"Who's going to beat me every morning?"
Eli considered that.
Then he smiled.
"You can race the other kids."
Wade nodded.
"Good idea."
My son looked down at the wooden track.
"Can I take this?"
I nodded.
"Of course."
Eli looked toward the biker.
"You made it."
Wade smiled.
"Made it for you."
My son held it carefully.
Then he pointed at the red car in Wade's hand.
"Don't forget Lily."
The biker's expression softened.
"Never."
Eli smiled.
"Good."
The first evening back in our apartment felt almost unreal.
The rooms looked familiar, but we had changed.