Most mundane.
If surgery goes wrong.
If I get sick.
If something happens on the drive.
Some included instructions.
Some jokes.
One began:
Bear, if you’re listening to this because I choked on hospital vending-machine peanuts, tell Lily I died exactly as she predicted.
Lily laughed so hard she cried again.
Wade had never played them because he feared they would keep Aaron frozen in anticipation of death.
At fourteen, Lily was ready.
They listened to every one.
In the last canceled message, recorded two months before Aaron died, he said something Wade had never noticed.
“Bear, you’re going to think Lily needs somebody less broken.”
“She doesn’t.”
“She needs somebody who understands broken things still work.”
Wade paused the audio.
Lily looked toward him.
“He meant motorcycles.”
Wade wiped his face.
“Probably.”
Lily smiled.
“He meant you.”
“Unfortunately.”
At sixteen, Lily began working weekends at Wade’s garage.
She hated engines.
Loved customers.
Within six months she reorganized the scheduling system Wade had resisted for fifteen years.
Profit increased nine percent.
Wade accused her of witchcraft.
She applied to colleges.
Initially nursing.
Then social work.
Then law.
Then none.
She panicked.
Wade asked:
“What do you like?”
“I don’t know.”
“Good.”
“How is that good?”
“You’re seventeen.”
“You’re supposed to not know.”
She applied undecided.
The night before graduation, they returned to Mercy Children’s.
Room 417 no longer existed in the same form after renovation.
The pediatric floor had changed.
Marlene had retired.
The nurse from that night worked in another state.
The original security officer remained.
His name was Thomas Reed.
He recognized Wade.
Then Lily.
His face changed.
“Pink handcuffs.”
Lily laughed.
“You remember?”
“Hard to forget.”
Thomas looked toward Wade.
“I almost dragged him out.”
Wade smiled.
“You tried.”
Thomas shook his head.
“I think about that night.”
Lily became serious.
“Why?”
“Because I was certain I understood what I was looking at.”
He glanced toward Wade.
“I saw a biker beside a child.”
“Decided that meant danger.”
“I wasn’t wrong to verify.”
“I was wrong to stop being curious.”
Wade looked at him.
That was fair.
Thomas continued.
“I train new officers now.”
“I tell the story.”
Lily smiled.
“Do I get royalties?”
Thomas laughed.
“Talk to administration.”
They visited the hospital playroom.
Toy handcuffs remained.
Different color.
Blue.
Lily picked one up.
She looked toward Wade.
“No.”
He backed away.
“Absolutely not.”
She laughed.
Graduation happened the next day.
Wade sat in the front row wearing a suit that fit this time.
The Steel Saints occupied nearly an entire section behind him.
School staff were nervous until they realized half the bikers were crying before the ceremony started.
Lily crossed the stage.
Name called.
Diploma.
Applause exploded.
Wade stood.
Everyone did.
Lily looked toward him.
For one second she was eight again.
Lavender hospital gown.
Toy handcuff.