“Caleb transferred it to me eight years ago.”
“For one dollar.”
“Because he didn’t want it in his estate.”
“So he planned this.”
“Yes.”
“He expected you to give it to Owen.”
“If Owen wanted it.”
“When?”
Russell pointed toward the letter.
“Whenever you decide he’s ready.”
Anna laughed.
“He’s eight.”
“Then not today.”
Owen disagreed.
Loudly.
When Anna explained that afternoon, he stood in the living room clutching his father’s silver marker.
“But it’s mine.”
“Eventually, maybe.”
“It says for my boy.”
“Yes.”
“I’m his boy.”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s mine.”
Anna closed her eyes.
Children made legal nuance exhausting.
“It is something your dad wanted you to have access to when you are older.”
“How older?”
“I don’t know.”
“Tomorrow?”
“No.”
“Nine?”
“No.”
“Ten?”
“No.”
“Twelve?”
“Owen.”
He crossed his arms.
“Eighteen?”
“Maybe.”
His face collapsed.
“That’s forever.”
Anna almost smiled.
“It’s ten years.”
“Exactly.”
He threw himself onto the couch.
“This is terrible.”
“You vandalized it yesterday.”
“I was fixing it.”
“With a paint marker.”
“It needed Dad’s symbol.”
Anna sat beside him.
His anger softened.
“Can I see it?”
She hesitated.
The answer in her mouth was no.
Not because it was unsafe to look.
Because she was afraid.
Afraid of Russell.
The biker shop.
The old world.
The possibility Owen would find something there he loved.
Something she associated with the years Caleb had deliberately left behind.
Then she remembered Caleb’s letter.
And Anna decides what ready means while he’s a kid.
It did not say keep him away.
It said decide.
She looked toward Owen.
“You can visit.”
His face lit.
“With me.”
Less enthusiasm.
“And you do exactly what I say.”
“Okay.”
“You do exactly what Mr. Maddox says in the shop.”
“Bear.”
“No.”
“What?”
“You call him Mr. Maddox.”
Owen looked horrified.
“He’s Bear.”
Anna almost laughed.
“Fine.”
“Bear.”
Owen hugged her.
She had not expected it.
Her chest hurt.
The first visit to Brennan Motor Works—Russell had kept his original surname out of the business name decades earlier, a detail Anna found confusing until she learned the shop belonged to a former partner first—happened the following Saturday.
Russell had cleaned.
Pete immediately ruined the evidence.
He was eating powdered doughnuts near a disassembled engine when Anna and Owen entered.
Powdered sugar covered his vest.
Russell glared.
“You had one job.”
Pete shrugged.
“I opened the door.”
Owen stared at everything.
Motorcycles on lifts.
Tool cabinets taller than he was.
Engines.
Chrome.
Wheels hanging from racks.
Old photographs.
License plates.
A coffee machine that looked older than Anna.
The burgundy Harley waited in the rear bay.
The silver half-symbol remained on the tank.
Owen walked toward it slowly.
He did not touch.
Russell noticed.
“Good.”
Owen looked up.
“What?”
“First shop rule.”