“I’m not here to change your plan.”
She nodded slowly.
“I know.”
“I’m not asking you to stay.”
“All right.”
“I’m not going to make Daniel’s mistake into a debt you have to pay.”
Emma’s expression softened.
“But?”
“But I’d like to follow you to the interstate.”
“Hank.”
“Not Ohio.”
He pointed toward his motorcycle.
“Twenty miles.”
She considered.
“Why?”
He looked at Eli.
“Because his dad never got to take the first part of the big ride.”
Emma looked toward the drawing.
Hank continued.
“He stays in your car.”
Eli’s face fell.
Hank looked at him.
“Your dad made the rule.”
Eli immediately nodded.
“Okay.”
“I ride beside you until the highway split.”
Emma folded her arms.
“No club formation.”
Ray looked offended.
“We’re not a club.”
Luis said, “We’re three old men with cholesterol problems.”
Emma laughed.
“Fine.”
They left at eight twelve.
Emma drove.
Eli sat in the back seat with the sketchbook on his knees.
Hank’s motorcycle remained beside them through town.
At every red light, Eli waved.
Hank waved back.
Ray rode behind.
Luis followed.
At the highway ramp, Emma slowed.
Hank pulled alongside.
Eli pressed both palms against the window.
Hank looked at him.
Then at Emma.
She gave one small nod.
Thank you.
Hank touched two fingers to his helmet.
Then they separated.
Emma’s sedan continued east.
Hank stopped at the shoulder after the exit.
He watched until the car became one among dozens.
Ray pulled beside him.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good answer.”
Luis parked behind them.
Hank looked down.
Daniel and Eli remained on the tank.
The little boy’s arm reached toward nowhere.
Except now Hank knew where.
Forward.
He started the engine.
For the first time in eight years, he went home with a plan that involved his son’s family instead of his regret.
Ohio did not make anything easy.
Emma and Eli moved into her sister Claire’s small house outside Toledo.
Claire had two daughters.
The first month became a chaos of boxes, school registration, job applications, grief paperwork, and figuring out which child had used the last clean towel.
Hank called on Sunday.
Not Monday.
Not Tuesday.
Sunday.
He had spent four days arguing with himself about whether calling too soon would make him look desperate.
It did not occur to him until later that desperation was not always something to avoid.
Emma answered.
“Hello?”
“It’s Hank.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Your number is saved.”
“Oh.”
Silence.
“How’s Ohio?”
“Still Ohio.”
He smiled.
“How’s Eli?”
“At the table.”
“Can I…”
He stopped.
Emma waited.
“Can I talk to him?”
“Yes.”
Eli grabbed the phone.
“Grandpa!”
There it was again.
Hank sat heavily on his kitchen chair.
“Hey, kid.”
“Did Dad stay on the motorcycle?”
“Yes.”
“You promised.”
“I remember.”
“Did it rain?”
“Once.”
“What happened?”
“I covered the bike like it was carrying the Declaration of Independence.”