She did not read aloud immediately.
Emma frowned.
“Grandma?”
Rosa pressed one hand against her mouth.
Cole looked away.
“Grandma?”
Rosa finally began.
“My butterfly.”
Emma immediately smiled.
Rosa’s voice trembled.
“If Cole gave you this letter, it means he kept his promise to me.”
Emma looked toward the biker.
Cole remained on one knee.
“I know you've been asking when I'm coming home.”
Rosa stopped.
Emma’s smile disappeared.
“Keep reading.”
Rosa continued.
“I still cannot give you the exact number of sleeps.”
“But I can give you something better than waiting with nothing to count.”
Emma listened carefully.
Rosa read:
“I met Cole because life put both of us in a place where someone needed help.”
“He told me his motorcycle club does something called Promise Rides.”
“They help families when distance makes promises hard to keep.”
“I told him there is one promise I have been worried about every day.”
Emma’s fingers tightened around the paper.
Rosa looked ahead in the letter.
Her eyes filled.
Emma whispered:
“What promise?”
Rosa kept reading.
“I promised you that when I got home, I would teach you how to fish at Lake Thunderbird.”
Emma smiled faintly.
“You remember.”
Rosa read.
“I remember too.”
“But I also know Grandma’s van has been getting harder for you to get into.”
“And I know the ramp at the house shakes when it rains because Grandpa built it twenty years ago using wood he probably stole from Noah’s Ark.”
Rosa made an offended noise.
“He helped build that ramp himself.”
Cole looked toward the porch.
One side visibly sagged.
Rosa followed his gaze.
“Don't.”
Cole looked away.
Emma giggled.
Rosa continued.
“I know you think I don't notice those things because I'm far away.”
“I notice.”
“I notice everything I can.”
Emma’s smile faded.
Rosa read the next paragraph more slowly.
“So I asked Cole for help.”
“Not because you need saving.”
“You don't.”
“Because sometimes people who love each other need help keeping promises across long distances.”
Emma looked toward the line of motorcycles.
“What are they doing?”
Rosa kept reading.
“Cole and his brothers are going to ask Grandma for permission to fix the ramp, repair the van lift, and take you somewhere I wish I could take you myself.”
Emma’s mouth opened.
“Where?”
Rosa lowered the letter.
A second sheet was folded behind the first.
Emma grabbed it.
A drawing appeared across the page.
A lake.
A fishing pole.
A purple wheelchair beside the water.
And twelve badly drawn motorcycles.
Emma stared.
“No.”
Cole smiled slightly.
Emma looked at him.
“You're taking me fishing?”
“If your grandma says yes.”
Emma turned toward Rosa.
Rosa immediately said, “Absolutely not.”
Emma’s face collapsed.
Cole nodded.
“Fair.”
Emma shouted, “Grandma!”
“Twelve motorcycles?”
“I'm not riding a motorcycle!”
“I know.”
“Then what?”
Rosa looked suspiciously toward Cole.
“What exactly are you proposing?”
Cole stood slowly.
“The motorcycles are just how we got here.”
“Two of our riders are mechanics.”
“One owns an accessibility-equipment company in Norman.”
“We brought a truck.”
Rosa looked across the street.
Behind the gas station, partly concealed by the building, sat a white utility truck.