“A little.”
“What do you want?”
Lucy thought.
“Nothing.”
“People can think dumb things.”
Mara smiled.
That was new.
Three years earlier, she had built an entire grief around what she thought other people knew.
Lucy was learning earlier.
Not every wrong story deserves correction.
At eleven, she opened letter eight.
Owen wrote about Hammer.
That one changed something.
He described the day Hammer sat outside a hospital for four hours because Owen was too scared to enter alone.
How Hammer pretended he had business nearby.
How he lied badly.
How he hated hospitals but went anyway.
Owen wrote:
Hammer will probably make himself sound tougher than he is. He cries at dog movies. Use this information responsibly.
Lucy ran directly to the Copper Lantern.
Hammer was eating eggs.
She slammed the letter on the table.
“You cry at dog movies.”
Hammer stared at Mara.
“You let her read that?”
“It’s her letter.”
“This is defamation.”
Lucy grinned.
“Dad says it’s true.”
“Your dad was dying.”
“He was still right.”
Colt laughed from the next booth.
Hammer threatened everyone.
Nobody was afraid.
That was the first time Mara realized the club had become family again.
Not Owen’s family replacing hers.
Not bikers taking over.
Just more people who knew him.
More people who knew Lucy.
The family expanded.
It did not divide.
That lesson took Mara longer than she wished.
For years she had believed grief was something you protected by controlling access.
If the club got to mourn Owen, maybe her grief mattered less.
If Hammer had memories she did not, maybe he knew Owen better.
If Lucy loved Hammer, maybe she needed her mother less.
None of that was true.
Love did not obey subtraction.
At twelve, Lucy wanted to open more than one remaining letter.
Mara said no automatically.
Then stopped.
The letters were Lucy’s.
Owen had said choose.
So Mara asked:
“What do you want?”
Lucy looked surprised.
“All of them.”
“Why?”
“I’m tired of Dad knowing the future before me.”
Mara laughed.
“That makes no sense.”
“I know.”
Lucy opened nine, ten, eleven, and twelve over one weekend.
Letter nine was about friendship.
Owen wrote:
A good friend does not always support your plan. Sometimes the best friend is the person who ruins your stupid plan before your stupid plan ruins you. Hammer performed this service often. I hated him for approximately twenty minutes each time.
Hammer pretended the sentence was legally binding recognition of his wisdom.