“Fishing?”
“That.”
“What was the other one?”
Mateo looked at her.
Emma waited.
“When you were born, I promised myself something.”
“What?”
“That even when I couldn't physically be beside you, you'd never have to wonder whether I was thinking about you.”
Emma frowned.
“But sometimes I did wonder.”
Mateo looked down.
“That means I didn't always do a good job.”
“You called.”
“I did.”
“You sent dresses.”
“I did.”
“You missed stuff.”
“I did.”
Emma rested her head against him.
“I knew you loved me.”
Mateo’s eyes filled.
“That was the promise.”
“Oh.”
They sat quietly.
After a minute, Emma asked:
“Was Cole scary when you met him?”
Mateo laughed.
“Very.”
“Did you think he was mean?”
“Maybe for five minutes.”
“What changed?”
“He started talking about his daughter.”
“Hannah.”
Mateo looked surprised.
“He told you?”
“A little.”
Mateo nodded.
“Hannah spent a lot of her life in hospitals.”
“She met bikers who showed up when she needed something to look forward to.”
“After she died, Cole decided showing up could be his job.”
Emma thought about this.
“Motorcycle friend.”
“Pretty much.”
“Promise friend.”
Mateo smiled.
“That's better.”
At sunset, Cole prepared to leave.
The others had already gone.
He fastened his helmet beside the black motorcycle.
Emma rolled down the ramp.
“Cole!”
He turned.
She held something.
A dandelion.
Mostly seeds now.
She extended it.
“For Hannah.”
Cole stared.
Emma said:
“She might like stubborn flowers.”
Cole removed one glove.
He accepted it with surprising care.
“She would.”
“Don't lose it.”
“I'll try.”
“And you have to come back.”
Cole looked toward Mateo.
Mateo leaned against the porch rail.
Rosa stood beside him.
Cole asked:
“Is that an order?”
“Yes.”
“What if I’m busy?”
Emma narrowed her eyes.
“Daddy says promises matter.”
Cole looked down at the purple butterfly patch now attached temporarily to Emma’s wheelchair bag.
Then back at her.
“That's unfair.”
“Promise.”
Cole smiled.
“Promise.”
He started the motorcycle.
Emma covered her ears briefly.
Then lowered her hands.
Cole pulled onto the road.
Emma watched until he disappeared beyond the trees.
Three months later, Cole returned.
Not alone.
There were sixteen motorcycles this time.
Rosa complained for twelve straight minutes.
Then fed everyone.
Mateo was home permanently by then.
His transfer had gone through.
Life did not become perfect.
That mattered.
Perfect endings belonged to stories people told because reality felt untidy.