“This one hadn’t run in years when he met you.”
“He and I stored it in pieces.”
“When you got pregnant, he came to the shop.”
“Spent three months rebuilding it.”
Anna stared.
“While I was pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“He told me he was working overtime.”
Russell’s face tightened.
“I thought you knew.”
“I didn’t.”
“He said he was finishing something for his kid.”
Anna looked away.
“He lied.”
“Yes.”
The word was painful.
But honest.
Russell did not defend Caleb.
Anna appreciated that more than she wanted to.
“He was a good man.”
Russell said.
Anna laughed bitterly.
“Everybody keeps telling me that.”
“Good men lie.”
She looked toward him.
Russell continued:
“Bad men tell the truth sometimes.”
“Death doesn’t clean anybody up.”
Anna became very still.
“That’s an ugly thing to say.”
“It’s also true.”
She looked toward Caleb’s handwriting.
“I’m angry at him.”
“You’re allowed.”
“Am I?”
Russell shrugged.
“Who’s stopping you?”
“Everyone.”
“People don’t like anger at dead men.”
“No.”
“Makes funerals complicated.”
Despite herself, Anna smiled.
Then cried.
Russell sat still.
No comforting hand.
No forced words.
After a minute Anna whispered:
“What was he like?”
Russell knew exactly what she meant.
Not husband Caleb.
Not father Caleb.
The one before.
He smiled.
“Annoying.”
She laughed through tears.
Russell continued.
“Seventeen years old.”
“Skinny.”
“Hair down to here.”
He touched his shoulders.
Anna stared in disbelief.
“No.”
“Unfortunately.”
“He thought deodorant was optional.”
“That sounds more believable.”
“He fought everybody.”
“Couldn’t throw a proper punch.”
“Got hit a lot.”
“He stole a carburetor from my shop.”
Anna’s eyes widened.
“He told me it was a spark plug.”
“He improved the story.”
Russell smiled.
“I caught him.”
“Made him work to pay for it.”
“He came back the next day.”
“Then the day after.”
“One foster placement ended.”
“He slept in the storage room three weeks.”
Anna’s expression changed.
“Was that legal?”
“No.”
“Did anyone know?”
“No.”
“Did you feed him?”
Russell shrugged.
“Sometimes.”
“Why?”
The large man stared at his coffee.
“He looked like me at seventeen.”
Anna waited.
Russell did not explain.
He did not need to.
She looked toward the letter again.
“He called you his brother.”
Russell’s jaw moved.
“Yes.”
“Did you call him that?”
“Not enough.”
Anna understood.
Another unfinished thing.
She folded the letter.
“What happens to the motorcycle?”
Russell looked at her.
“You decide.”
“No.”
“Caleb said—”
“I read it.”
“I mean legally.”
Russell nodded.
“Title is mine.”
Anna’s face hardened.
“Why?”