He hung up.
I waited another minute.
Then I dialed.
Angie answered on the fourth ring.
“Hello?”
“Ma'am, this is the biker from the diner. The one your boy called Bear.”
There was a brief silence.
Then she gave a small laugh.
“Oh. Bear.”
“Hope I'm not calling too late.”
“No. Not at all.”
I heard movement in the background.
A cupboard closed.
Then she lowered her voice.
“Tucker's asleep.”
I looked toward the photograph of Sarah resting on my workbench.
“How's he doing?”
“Tired. He had another appointment this afternoon.”
“Everything okay?”
She hesitated.
“The doctors are still evaluating how he's responding.”
I didn't press.
Then I explained why I was calling.
I told her the Iron Ghosts wanted to help.
Not by interfering with treatment.
Not by making promises.
But by helping with rides, meals, errands, or whatever practical support she was comfortable accepting.
Angie listened quietly.
When I finished, she sighed.
“You gentlemen already bought us breakfast.”
“That was breakfast.”
“You don't understand.”
“Maybe not.”
Her voice trembled.
“People have offered to help before. They mean well. They bring groceries once or say they'll call. Then life gets busy, and you don't hear from them again.”
I closed my eyes.
“I know that happens.”
She continued.
“I can't let Tucker get attached to people who might disappear.”
The words hit me harder than she could have known.
My first instinct was to promise that we'd always be there.
But I stopped myself.
I had learned how easily people made promises about the future without knowing what life might demand.
So I answered differently.
“You don't have to trust us tonight.”
Angie became quiet.
I continued.
“Give us a chance to prove we're serious. One thing at a time.”
She didn't answer immediately.
Then she asked, “What kind of help are you thinking about?”
“What do you need this week?”
She laughed sadly.
“A miracle.”
I looked toward the floor.
“I can't provide that.”
“I know.”
Then she began crying.
I waited.
She apologized.
I told her she didn't have to.
Finally, she explained.
Tucker had been diagnosed with neuroblastoma, a childhood cancer that had already required several rounds of treatment. His doctors were monitoring how well the disease responded, and the process involved repeated hospital visits, medication, tests, and periods when his immune system needed extra protection.
His medical team was doing everything they could.
But the daily burden was enormous.
Angie had reduced her work hours.
Her employer had tried to accommodate the appointments, but unpaid time away from work had become difficult.