He looked toward her.
"Will I see you at the garage next week?"
Her heart tightened.
"If you'd like."
He smiled.
"I'd like that."
She watched him climb into the truck.
Then he lowered the window.
"Nora?"
She turned.
"Yes?"
He hesitated.
For one strange moment, she thought he might finally remember.
Instead, he smiled.
"Take care of yourself."
She nodded.
"You too."
He drove away.
Nora remained beside the motorcycle until the sound of his engine disappeared.
Then she opened her handbag.
Inside the small black clutch lay the tarnished brass ring.
She removed it.
Held it against the afternoon light.
And whispered the words she should have spoken before he left.
"It's me, Daniel."
The creek continued moving beneath the bridge.
No one heard her.
And the truth remained unspoken.
That evening, Daniel burned the garlic bread.
Lucy discovered the evidence before he could hide it.
She entered the kitchen carrying her broken tripod, a camera bag, and an expression of immense disappointment.
"Dad."
Daniel looked toward the oven.
"Yes?"
"Why does the kitchen smell like a forest fire?"
He opened the door.
A dark cloud of smoke rose from the baking tray.
Lucy stared.
Daniel sighed.
"That's unfortunate."
She leaned closer.
"That was garlic bread?"
"Allegedly."
Lucy laughed.
He placed the ruined slices in the sink.
Then opened a window.
She set down her tripod.
"You're distracted."
"No, I'm not."
She raised an eyebrow.
He looked toward the smoke.
"All right. A little."
Lucy smiled.
"Did you see Nora?"
Daniel turned.
"What makes you ask that?"
"Because you've been weird since she started coming to the garage."
He frowned.
"Weird?"
"Smiling at your phone."
"I smile at lots of things."
"Buying sandwiches for people who aren't there."
"That's called hospitality."
"Combing your hair before work."
Daniel stared.
Lucy crossed her arms.
"Grandpa Arthur says you're courting."
Daniel groaned.
"Arthur needs another hobby."
She laughed.
Then her expression softened.
"Do you like her?"
Daniel looked toward the kitchen table.
For a moment, he thought about giving the usual fatherly answer.
Something vague.
Something that would end the conversation.
But Lucy was growing older.
She had lost her mother.
She deserved honesty about changes that might affect her life.