He knew immediately.
The Older Biker.
The Father stood.
“How did you get this number?”
“Not important.”
“It is to me.”
“Kid wants answers.”
The Father stopped breathing.
“Did he say that?”
“No.”
The Father closed his eyes.
“Then why are you calling?”
“Because you were close enough to film him and too far away to talk.”
The Father sat again.
“You don’t understand.”
“No.”
The Older Biker’s voice remained calm.
“I don’t.”
Silence.
“That’s why I’m asking.”
The Father rubbed his forehead.
“What do you want?”
“Nothing.”
“Then?”
“If you’re leaving town again, do it before that kid starts looking across every road.”
The words cut.
The Father whispered, “I’m not leaving.”
“Good.”
“Does he know I’m here?”
“He knows you were there.”
“I mean now.”
“No.”
The Father looked toward the motel curtain.
“What should I do?”
The Older Biker immediately answered.
“Don’t ask me.”
The Father frowned.
“You called me.”
“I’m not his father.”
The sentence hurt deliberately.
The Father accepted it.
The Biker continued.
“You want to know what the right move is?”
“Yes.”
“Ask him.”
“How?”
“That’s your problem.”
The call ended.
The Father stared at the phone.
Then called the Mother.
She answered on the sixth ring.
“What?”
No greeting.
He deserved that.
“I’m still in town.”
“I assumed.”
“How?”
“You’ve been sitting outside places like a private detective with no training.”
The Father almost smiled.
He stopped himself.
“Can I see him?”
Silence.
“Ask him.”
“I don’t have his number anymore.”
“You do.”
“He blocked me.”
“Then that is also information.”
The Father closed his eyes.
“Please.”
The Mother’s voice softened slightly.
Not much.
“I will ask if he wants a message.”
“Thank you.”
“One message.”
“Yes.”
“And if he says no, you respect it.”
“Yes.”
“No showing up across roads.”
The Father swallowed.
“Yes.”
“No surprise visits.”
“I understand.”
The Mother paused.
“Do you?”
The Father had no defense.
Finally:
“I’m trying to.”
The Boy received the message that evening.
His Mother entered his room.
“He called.”
The Boy knew immediately who.
“What does he want?”
“To send you a message.”
The Boy stared at his video game screen.
Character frozen.
“Did he say what?”
“No.”
“Do you want me to hear it?”
“It isn’t about me.”