Rachel nodded.
"I know."
"I don't want somebody helping all the time."
Rachel looked at the crayon.
For a moment, she wanted to reach over, guide her daughter's hand, and finish the picture. It would have been easy, and the result might have looked beautiful.
But she understood that the picture wasn't really the problem.
Ellie wanted to do something on her own.
So Rachel asked, "Would you like to try something different?"
Ellie sniffed.
"Like what?"
"We could use a bigger crayon, or take a break and come back later. You get to choose."
Ellie considered her options.
Then she said, "A bigger crayon."
Rachel found one.
It wasn't a perfect solution.
Ellie's hand still became tired.
But she managed to draw three crooked circles and the outline of a motorcycle.
When she finished, she smiled.
"It's ugly."
Rachel studied the drawing.
"I think it's wonderful."
Ellie gave her a skeptical look.
"You're my mama. You have to say that."
Rachel laughed.
"That's true."
Ellie laughed with her.
Then the little girl added a tiny brown shape beside the passenger seat.
Rachel leaned closer.
"What's that?"
"Mr. Bumblebee."
"Of course."
Ellie smiled.
"He has to wear a helmet too."
Rachel looked at the drawing.
And for the first time that afternoon, she allowed herself to imagine the possibility of her daughter experiencing something extraordinary.
Not because a motorcycle could change her illness.
Not because kindness could erase the prognosis.
But because Ellie deserved memories that were about joy rather than treatment.
November brought the first serious disagreement between Rachel and Mark about the project.
It began after Mark returned home from work and found Rachel reviewing a message from Doc.
The biker had sent an update explaining that the initial design was being evaluated and that no decisions had been made about whether movement would be safe. He asked whether the family would be willing to meet with the engineer and physical therapist to discuss the concept.
Rachel had already begun writing a response.
Mark read the message over her shoulder.
Then he stepped back.
"How far is this going?"
Rachel looked up.
"What do you mean?"
"He's building an actual machine."
"That's what he said he wanted to do."
"I thought he was exploring ideas."
"He is."
Mark frowned.