“She can take the girl tonight.”
“And boy?”
“When discharged.”
“Together?”
“Yes.”
The Biker Leader exhaled.
“Good.”
The social worker studied him.
“You care fast.”
He looked toward the floor.
“Kids make it easy.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“Adults like to say that.”
He looked over.
“Why?”
“Because then caring sounds instinctive.”
She glanced toward the hospital room.
“It’s a decision.”
That sentence stayed.
At six-thirty, the police officer returned.
She asked the social worker to step away.
Then looked toward the Biker Leader.
“You should probably come too.”
He stood.
They went near the vending machines.
The officer spoke quietly.
“We found the mother’s car.”
The Biker Leader’s face tightened.
“Where?”
“Industrial road about eight miles from her job.”
“Empty?”
“Yes.”
“Blood?”
The officer gave him a look.
“You know I can’t share everything.”
“Fair.”
She continued.
“But there are signs of a collision.”
“Accident?”
“Maybe.”
The Biker Leader waited.
“Car hit a guardrail.”
“Then?”
“Driver door was open.”
The social worker whispered, “Oh God.”
The officer continued.
“Hospital checks show an unidentified woman was brought to County General early Tuesday morning.”
The Biker Leader stared.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
Everything changed again.
“Why unidentified?”
“No purse.”
“No ID.”
“Condition?”
“Serious head injury.”
“Is it her?”
“We don’t know yet.”
The officer held up one hand.
“Description matches.”
The Biker Leader looked toward the children’s room.
“Tell the girl?”
“Not until confirmed.”
Good.
They waited another hour.
Longest hour of the day.
The Biker Leader walked hospital corridors.
The Nurse Biker stayed with the children.
The downstairs neighbor completed paperwork.
The social worker made calls.
At seven-forty-three, the officer returned.
Her face gave the answer before her words.
“It’s the mother.”
The Biker Leader closed his eyes.
Alive.
Not abandonment.
Not exactly.
“What happened?”
“Preliminary reconstruction suggests she left work with a coworker because her car wouldn’t start.”
The Biker Leader remembered the video.
“The man?”
“Coworker.”
“Then how’d her car end up—”
“He helped start it in the lot.”
She drove.
Around midnight, likely swerved to avoid debris or another vehicle.
Hit the rail.
The car spun.
She got out disoriented.
A passing driver found her farther down the road.
No ID.
Her purse remained in the vehicle under the passenger seat.
The car was towed under the wrong plate transcription.
The hospital had registered her as unknown.
“Five days?”