Then she announced, "I want to ride a metal horse."
Mark laughed again.
He had no idea how deeply the idea would settle inside her imagination.
By the time the charity event arrived, Ellie had drawn the motorcycle three times. In every picture, it was black with pink decorations, and she sat in a seat surrounded by little stars.
In one drawing, Mr. Bumblebee rode beside her.
In another, the motorcycle had wings.
Rachel found the pictures while cleaning Ellie's room one evening.
She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at them.
Then she carefully returned the notebook to its place.
She couldn't bring herself to tell Ellie that this adventure might never happen.
That night, while Ellie slept, Mark found Rachel standing in the kitchen.
The house was quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the faint sound of Ellie's breathing monitor from the bedroom. Rachel held a mug of tea that had gone cold.
Mark approached.
"You okay?"
She gave him a tired look.
"What do you think?"
He nodded.
"Fair question."
Rachel set down the mug.
"She asked him if she could ride before she died."
Mark looked toward the hallway.
"I heard."
"She said it like she was asking for another cookie."
He rubbed his face.
"She's trying to understand."
Rachel shook her head.
"She's six."
"I know."
"She's supposed to be worrying about school and cartoons and whether her stuffed animals need blankets."
Mark leaned against the counter.
"She still worries about those things."
Rachel looked at him.
"Then why did she ask that question?"
Mark didn't answer immediately.
He thought about the adventure notebook.
He thought about the motorcycles at the traffic light.
Then he said, "Maybe because she wants to do something that makes her feel like everybody else."
Rachel's eyes filled.
"She is like everybody else."
"You know what I mean."
"She's everything."
"I know."
Mark reached for her hand.
For a moment, she let him hold it.
Then she whispered, "I'm so tired of saying no."
Mark pulled her gently toward him.
Rachel leaned against his chest.
Neither spoke for a long time.
They both knew the biker might never call.
But somewhere beneath their fear, a small part of each parent hoped he would.
Doc Brennan returned to his motorcycle repair shop on Tunnel Road shortly after nine that evening.