Big Dave looked toward the clock.
Then toward the calendar.
Thursday.
Friday noon was less than a day away.
The memorial ride was Saturday morning.
He set down his rag.
“That's it.”
Nobody answered.
Dave gestured toward the engine.
“We've got custom pieces that don't match standard replacements. We need proper measurements, fabrication, fitting, and testing.”
Rusty stared toward the floor.
The big mechanic continued.
“Even if we find a machine shop willing to take the job immediately, there's no guarantee we can do the work safely before tomorrow.”
Paul nodded reluctantly.
“He's right.”
For several seconds, the garage was silent.
Then Gravel approached the motorcycle.
He rested his hand against the cracked leather seat.
His enormous shoulders seemed to sag.
Rusty looked toward him.
“Gravel—”
The club president raised one hand.
“Don't.”
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then Gravel whispered, “Dutch trusted me.”
Rusty's expression softened.
“He did.”
“I told him we'd take care of this thing.”
“We are.”
Gravel shook his head.
“Not well enough.”
For several seconds, he stared toward the fuel tank.
Then he turned away.
Rusty looked toward Leo.
The boy was standing on the milk crate, staring at the damaged parts.
His face had gone pale.
For the first time since speaking up, he looked exactly like what he was.
An eight-year-old child who had wanted desperately to help.
Rusty walked toward him.
“Leo.”
The boy didn't answer.
Rusty crouched.
“Hey.”
Leo looked up.
His eyes were wet.
“You did good, son.”
The boy shook his head.
“The motorcycle still doesn't run.”
“I know.”
Leo looked toward the workbench.
“Dad knew how to make those.”
Rusty swallowed.
“Yes.”
The boy's voice trembled.
“But he's gone.”
For several seconds, Rusty couldn't speak.
Then he placed one hand gently against Leo's shoulder.
“I know.”
Leo looked down.
A tear slipped across his dirty cheek.
Rusty's throat tightened.
He'd spent two weeks being frustrated with a motorcycle.
The child had spent two years missing the only person who knew exactly how to repair it.
Rusty took a breath.
“Leo, some problems don't have quick answers.”
The boy nodded.
“Okay.”
“And that doesn't mean you failed.”
Leo looked toward the floor.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then he whispered, “Can I see one?”
Rusty hesitated.
He looked toward Paul.
The machinist selected a cleaned, disconnected sample component and brought it over for the boy to examine under supervision.
Leo turned it carefully in his hands.
His brow furrowed.
Then he looked toward the rear wall.