The numbers did not balance.
She stared at the page for a long time.
Then looked toward the photograph of her husband.
"I need something steady," she whispered.
She had said those words many times.
But this time, instead of simply worrying, she began making calls.
She contacted a community employment office.
Updated her résumé.
Asked a former supervisor whether he would provide a reference.
And arranged an appointment with a local family assistance organization to discuss food resources and her overdue rent.
She disliked asking.
But she remembered what her daughter had been willing to sacrifice.
The pink bicycle.
The little bell.
The thing she loved most.
The mother looked toward the backyard.
Her daughter was riding in slow circles beneath the oak tree.
Laughing whenever the bell rang.
The woman felt tears gather.
Then she picked up the telephone again.
Her child had tried to solve an adult problem.
Now it was time for the adults to do their part.
Two weeks later, the widow called the old biker.
He was standing beside a motorcycle engine when his office telephone rang.
An employee answered.
Then looked toward him.
"Boss?"
The old biker glanced up.
"What?"
"There's a woman asking for you."
He frowned.
"Which woman?"
The mechanic lowered his voice.
"Says you helped her daughter keep a pink bicycle."
The old man's heart jumped.
He wiped his hands on a rag.
Then hurried into the office.
He lifted the telephone.
"Hello?"
The woman's voice came through quietly.
"It's me."
He swallowed.
"Yes, ma'am."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then she said, "I hope I'm not interrupting."
"No."
He looked toward the workshop.
"Not at all."
The woman took a breath.
"My daughter has been asking questions."
His chest tightened.
"About her father?"
"Yes."
He nodded.
Even though she could not see him.
She continued.
"I've told her some of the stories you wrote."
The old biker looked toward the framed photograph on his desk.
"Did she like them?"
A faint smile entered the woman's voice.
"She loved the one about the broken motorcycle in Tennessee."
The old man laughed softly.
"That was a long afternoon."