“I can listen.”
“You can listen tomorrow.”
Jim said:
“Your mother is right.”
Leo stared betrayed.
“You too?”
Jim nodded solemnly.
“I enjoy continuing to live.”
Maria almost laughed.
Leo put backpack on.
Then turned back.
“Don't change timing.”
Dave said:
“We know.”
“Don’t remove hidden switch.”
“We know.”
“And check relay—”
“Leo.”
Maria pointed toward door.
He sighed.
“Fine.”
Before he left, Rusty called.
“Kid.”
Leo turned.
Rusty tossed something gently.
A pair of new clear safety glasses.
Leo caught them against his chest.
“Those stay here.”
Leo put them on.
They were too large.
Everyone laughed.
Leo grinned.
Then followed his mother outside.
The motorcycle started twice more that night.
Both times first try.
Thursday morning Rusty arrived at five-thirty.
Dave was already there.
Neither admitted being unable to sleep.
They put the FXR through every test they could without riding.
Charging.
Hot restart.
Cold restart.
Leak check.
Ignition stability.
Valve noise.
Clutch.
Primary.
Brakes.
Tires.
Steering bearings.
The memorial ride would cover almost two hundred miles.
A bike that started once inside a shop was not enough.
At eight-fifteen Rusty rode it around the industrial block.
Five miles.
No problem.
Then fifteen.
Then thirty.
On the third test he returned with a concerned expression.
Dave’s stomach dropped.
“What?”
Rusty removed helmet.
“Front brake pulses.”
Dave stared.
“That’s it?”
“That's enough at highway speed.”
They replaced warped rotor.
At noon Jim arrived.
The FXR sat under a dark canvas cover.
Jim entered with three club members.
He looked around.
“Where’s kid?”
“School,” Rusty said.
Jim glanced at clock.
“Good.”
Rusty folded arms.
“You sound disappointed.”
“I am.”
“Then why good?”
“Because he’s eight.”
Rusty smiled.
Jim looked toward covered bike.
“Well?”
Rusty said nothing.
Jim’s jaw tightened.
“Rusty.”
Rusty pointed.
“Do it.”