He changed into a clean T-shirt from his motorcycle saddlebag.
Margaret waited near the entrance in her wheelchair.
Hospital policy again.
Richard approached.
No clipboard this time.
He stood beside her.
“Mrs. Holloway.”
“Yes?”
“I wanted to say something.”
She waited.
“I hope you understand I wasn't trying to remove your choices.”
Margaret looked at him.
“I know.”
He seemed surprised.
She continued.
“You were afraid I'd fall.”
“Yes.”
“You were afraid the hospital would send an eighty-year-old woman out alone at two in the morning.”
“Yes.”
“Good fears.”
Richard nodded slowly.
“But?”
“There is always a but.”
She smiled.
“Fear can make professionals stop listening.”
Richard looked down.
Margaret continued.
“When I said my grandson was coming, you heard an unreliable discharge plan.”
“You did not hear that I knew him.”
“That I trusted him.”
“That I knew the difference between late and absent.”
Richard absorbed that.
“You're right.”
Margaret raised one eyebrow.
“I know.”
He smiled.
Then:
“Take care of yourself.”
“I've managed eighty years.”
“Apparently.”
Bear returned.
Richard looked at him.
“Mr. Callahan.”
“Richard.”
They shook hands.
Richard said:
“You were right too.”
Bear frowned.
“About?”
“Family.”
Bear looked toward Margaret.
“I didn't say anything philosophical.”
“You didn't need to.”
Bear nodded.
They left.
The automatic doors opened into cold Pennsylvania night.
Bear's motorcycle sat near the curb.
Margaret looked at it.
Then at him.
“No.”
He laughed.
“What?”
“You are not taking me home on that.”
“I wasn't planning to.”
“Good.”
“Friend's bringing a truck.”
“Better.”
Ten minutes later, a dark pickup arrived.
The driver was another biker named Theo Briggs.
He looked at Margaret.
Then Bear.
Then back.
“So this your grandma?”
Bear sighed.
News traveled fast.
“For tonight.”
Margaret smiled.
“Watch your mouth.”
Theo laughed.
“I like her.”
They helped Margaret into the passenger seat.
Bear sat in the rear.
He gave her the front because getting an eighty-year-old woman into the back of an extended cab seemed like a crime.
On the drive home, Margaret fell asleep.
Her head leaned against the window.
Bear watched the road behind her.
Theo glanced in the mirror.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You don't look okay.”
Bear looked at Margaret.
“Long night.”
Theo nodded.
Neither spoke for several miles.
Then Theo said:
“That really her?”
“Yes.”
“The nurse?”
“Yes.”
“Damn.”
Bear smiled faintly.
“Yeah.”
“What are the odds?”
“Don't know.”
Theo drove.
Then:
“You believe in that fate stuff?”
Bear looked out the window.
“No.”
“Then?”
“People circle back.”
Theo nodded as though that explained enough.
Margaret lived in a small ranch house on Maple Street.
White siding.
Green shutters.
Porch light.
Bear noticed the ramp beside the front steps.
Good.