Daniel became a person again instead of an event.
At four fifteen, Emma checked the time and stood.
“We need to go.”
Hank’s stomach tightened.
Eli gathered his backpack.
Tomorrow.
Toledo.
Hank followed them outside.
The afternoon had turned cloudy.
His motorcycle stood exactly where they had left it.
The white drawing looked almost luminous against the black paint.
Eli touched nothing.
He put both hands into his hoodie pockets.
Hank noticed.
“You can touch the seat.”
Eli looked at Emma.
She nodded.
He placed one palm carefully against the leather.
“Dad said motorcycles feel alive even when they’re off.”
“He said that?”
“Yes.”
“He stole that from me.”
Emma smiled.
“Maybe.”
Hank crouched beside Eli again.
“Your mom says you’re leaving tomorrow.”
Eli nodded.
“Ohio.”
“You ever been?”
“No.”
“Cold.”
“Mom said.”
“Snow.”
“She said.”
“Terrible state.”
Emma folded her arms.
“My sister lives there.”
“I said what I said.”
Eli laughed.
Hank stood.
He wanted to ask them not to go.
The words crowded his throat.
Stay.
Move into my house.
Give me time.
Let me have Christmas.
Let me fix this.
Let me become the grandfather I should already have been.
But Daniel’s letter had not given him permission to turn grief into ownership.
Emma had made plans before he appeared.
She had lost a husband.
Eli had lost a father.
Neither owed Hank a rearranged life because he had finally arrived.
“When do you leave?”
“Eight tomorrow morning.”
“Driving?”
“Yes.”
“All the way?”
“We’ll stop overnight.”
Hank nodded.
“What route?”
Emma told him.
He memorized it automatically.
Eli zipped his backpack.
“Are we coming back?”
Emma hesitated.
“To visit?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know yet.”
Hank forced himself not to react.
Eli looked at him.
“You can visit Ohio.”
Hank smiled.
“I’ve heard rumors.”
“You have a motorcycle.”
“I do.”
“Can motorcycles go that far?”
“Mine can.”
Emma raised an eyebrow.
“Not with him.”
Hank lifted both hands.
“Didn’t say it.”
Eli looked disappointed.
Hank lowered his voice.
“Your dad was right about waiting until you’re bigger.”
“How much bigger?”
“Enough for your feet to reach where they’re supposed to.”
Eli examined his legs.
“That could take forever.”
“Probably.”
Hank walked them to the sedan.
Emma put the toolbox into the trunk.
Hank watched.
“Can I ask you something?”
She closed the trunk.
“Yes.”
“Did Daniel know he was sick?”
Emma frowned.
“He wasn’t sick.”
Hank looked confused.
“The accident?”
“Yes.”
“He wrote the letter before?”
“Months before.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”