The little pink bicycle stood safely against the porch railing.
The cardboard sign had been removed.
Her eyes filled again.
"I wish he could too."
The child squeezed her hand.
"Maybe Mr. Biker can tell him."
The mother closed her eyes.
For a moment, she could not speak.
Then she kissed the girl's forehead.
"Eat your breakfast, sweetheart."
The child obeyed.
But her mother remained seated long after the bowls were empty, thinking about the man who had stood on her porch and admitted he never answered her letter.
The old biker spent the morning looking through photographs.
He had almost forgotten how many he possessed.
They filled three cardboard boxes in the garage storage room.
Old motorcycle rallies.
Roadside diners.
Charity rides.
Repair jobs.
Men standing beside machines they had spent months rebuilding.
Birthdays.
Funerals.
Weddings.
Club meetings.
And scattered among them, the younger rider whose death had left a silence the old biker never knew how to discuss.
In one photograph, the two stood beside a broken-down motorcycle beneath a highway sign somewhere in Tennessee.
The younger man was laughing.
The old biker wore an expression of exaggerated irritation.
He remembered that day.
A fuel line failed in the middle of nowhere.
They had spent nearly four hours repairing the machine beside the road.
The younger rider insisted on taking a photograph.
The old biker told him the situation wasn't funny.
His friend replied, "It will be in ten years."
He had been right.
The old biker stared at the picture.
Then turned it over.
Across the back, in the younger man's handwriting, were three words.
Best trip ever.
The old man smiled through tears.
He found another photograph.
A group of riders gathered outside a diner during a thunderstorm.
The younger man stood near the center, holding a paper bag of sandwiches.
He had purchased food for everyone after learning the diner was closing early.
The old biker remembered complaining that his friend spent too much money on other people.
The younger man had laughed.
"Money's supposed to move, brother."
Then he handed the old biker a sandwich.
"Especially when somebody's hungry."
The memory hurt.