“Cancer?”
The biker asked softly.
The father nodded.
“Ovarian.”
“Fast?”
“Eleven months.”
“I’m sorry.”
The father looked toward the old photograph.
“After she died, Arizona felt empty.”
“So you came back.”
“Three years ago.”
“To Tennessee.”
“Yes.”
“And never called.”
The father looked at him.
“No.”
“Why?”
“By then what would I say?”
The club president glanced around the apartment.
“Anything.”
The father shook his head.
“I saw the club once.”
The biker’s eyes widened.
“Where?”
“Gas station outside town.”
“When?”
“Year and a half ago.”
“You saw us?”
“Six bikes.”
“You were there?”
“Across the road.”
“Why didn’t you come over?”
The father looked down at his brace.
“I wasn’t exactly winning.”
The biker understood.
“You thought we’d pity you.”
“I thought I’d rather you remember somebody else.”
The club president shook his head slowly.
“I remember you carrying me while your own shoulder was hanging wrong.”
“I remember you sleeping outside the hospital because visiting hours were over and you refused to leave.”
“I remember you loaning half your paycheck to three different brothers and never asking for it back.”
“I remember you punching me because I wanted to ride drunk.”
The daughter’s eyes widened.
“You punched him?”
The father looked embarrassed.
“He needed it.”
The biker nodded.
“I did.”
The girl looked impressed.
The father sighed.
“Don’t encourage her.”
For the first time, all three smiled.
Then the father looked toward the grocery bag again.
Pride returned.
He rubbed one hand over his face.
“I’ll pay you.”
“No.”
“I will.”
“No.”
“When I’m working.”
“You can try.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I.”
The father leaned back.
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand exactly.”
“No.”
“You don’t.”
The father’s voice grew quieter.
“I can’t pay rent next month.”
The girl turned.
He froze.
He had not meant to say it.
She stared.
“What?”
The father closed his eyes.
The biker looked toward him.
“How far behind?”
“One month.”
“And next?”
“Short.”
“Utilities?”
“Current.”
“Medical?”
The father laughed bitterly.
“Define current.”
The biker stood.
“Okay.”
The father’s expression hardened.
“No.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“I know that face.”