Eli laughed.
"Your legs are broken."
Wade groaned.
"Son, you have no idea."
Then he picked up a blue car.
And the first race began.
Wade stayed for eighteen minutes that morning.
I know because I looked at the clock when he entered and again when he left.
Eighteen minutes.
It wasn't a long visit by ordinary standards.
But when you've spent weeks watching your child struggle through difficult days, eighteen minutes of laughter can feel enormous.
Wade didn't ask Eli how he was feeling every few minutes.
He didn't tell him to be brave.
He didn't mention cancer.
He simply invented an elaborate race involving a blue sports car, a green pickup, and a yellow vehicle he insisted was powered by banana pudding.
Eli laughed at that.
Then he informed Wade that banana pudding wasn't gasoline.
The biker looked genuinely horrified.
"You're telling me I've been filling up the wrong tank?"
Eli giggled again.
I sat beside the bed, pretending to read a magazine.
In reality, I was watching every movement.
Wade handled the little cars with surprising care. His hands were enormous, the skin around his knuckles rough and marked by years of work, but he never made sudden movements near Eli's bed. Whenever my son became tired, he slowed down without drawing attention to it.
When Eli needed a break, Wade declared that all professional racers had to stop for a pit inspection.
He lined up the cars beside the bed.
Then he waited.
No impatience.
No disappointment.
Just quiet company.
After a few minutes, Eli raised one finger.
"Ready."
Wade grinned.
"Then start your engines."
By the time the nurse came to check on him, Eli was exhausted but happy.
Wade immediately began collecting the toys.
"All right, champion. That's enough racing for one day."
Eli's smile faded.
"Are you coming back?"
The biker paused.
He looked toward me.
Then he looked at my son.
"If your mom and the hospital are okay with it, I can stop by tomorrow."
Eli's eyes widened.
"With cars?"
"Wouldn't be much of a race without them."
My son grinned.
"Okay."
Wade rose slowly, his knees protesting again.
Eli laughed.
The biker pretended not to notice.
Then he nodded toward me.
"Have a good afternoon, ma'am."
I stood.
"Thank you."
He looked surprised.
"For what?"
I glanced at Eli.
"For making him smile."
Wade followed my gaze.
For a moment, something passed across his face.
It looked like sadness.
Then he smiled faintly.
"He's got a good laugh."
He turned and left.
I watched him disappear down the corridor.