Rusty nodded slowly.
“Do you still have that notice?”
“I think so.”
“Could you find it?”
Mara looked toward Leo.
Then back at the mechanic.
“Why?”
Rusty explained the custom engine.
The missing drawings.
The possibility that Arthur had stored measurements and spare parts downstairs.
Mara listened carefully.
When he finished, her expression had changed.
For a moment, she looked as though she might cry.
Then she whispered, “Arthur used to say Dutch's motorcycle was the one thing he wanted to leave absolutely right.”
Rusty frowned.
“What did he mean?”
Mara shook her head.
“I don't know.”
She looked toward the Harley.
“Even when he was sick, he worried about whether Dutch would be able to maintain the custom parts.”
Gravel stepped closer.
“He never told me that.”
Mara smiled sadly.
“Arthur didn't like making people worry.”
For several seconds, the garage was quiet.
Then Gravel looked toward the motorcycle.
“Dutch worried about him anyway.”
Mara turned.
The club president continued.
“When Arty got sick, Dutch drove him to appointments. Brought groceries. Fixed things around the apartment.”
Mara's eyes filled.
“He did.”
Gravel nodded.
“He didn't talk much about it.”
She wiped one cheek.
“No.”
For a moment, they stood together beside the silent FXR.
Two people remembering the same quiet acts of kindness from different sides of a friendship.
Then Rusty spoke.
“Let's locate the storage records. If those things belong to Arthur's estate or your family, we don't touch them without permission.”
Mara nodded.
“Thank you.”
She looked toward Leo.
Then smiled faintly.
“Come on, little mechanic. You need dinner.”
The boy looked toward the motorcycle.
“Can I come back tomorrow?”
Mara sighed dramatically.
“After breakfast.”
Leo grinned.
Rusty chuckled.
“And after you finish the reading assignment your teacher sent home.”
Leo's face collapsed.
All the men laughed.
This time, he laughed with them.
That mattered more than any of them knew.
The following morning, four mechanics gathered around a plastic milk crate in the center bay.
Leo stood on it with his mother watching from the office doorway.
He wasn't operating tools.
He wasn't touching the disassembled engine.
But the crate allowed him to see the areas the mechanics were discussing from a safe position beyond the marked work space.
Rusty had insisted on keeping the activity supervised and allowing the professionals to handle every component.
Leo held one of Arthur's old drawings that Mara found at home.
The paper was creased.
The corners were worn.
But the lines were clear.