Not jacket.
Not blanket.
Life.
He said, “You tell me.”
“I have work at the diner.”
“Good.”
“It barely covers food.”
“Still good.”
She looked toward the motel room.
“We don't have anywhere after checkout.”
The biker nodded.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Means that's tomorrow's problem.”
The Mother frowned.
“I hate that phrase.”
“Then we'll make it this morning's problem.”
She almost smiled.
“I don't want charity.”
“I heard you.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I.”
The biker pulled a folded business card from his wallet.
He handed it to her.
An address.
A motorcycle repair shop.
“What?”
“Need office help.”
She stared.
“I fix invoices for a living now?”
“What'd you do before?”
“Accounts receivable.”
The biker nodded.
“Sounds like you understand invoices.”
The Mother narrowed her eyes.
“Did my husband tell you that too?”
“Said you could make numbers confess.”
Her face collapsed into a smile.
“He said that?”
“More than once.”
The biker pointed toward the card.
“Come by at ten.”
“Job interview?”
“Yes.”
“Real interview?”
“Yes.”
“You'll tell me no if I'm terrible?”
“Absolutely.”
The Mother smiled.
“Good.”
“And apartment.”
Her expression immediately hardened.
He raised one hand.
“Not free.”
She paused.
“Continue.”
“Friend's sister owns a bakery.”
“Why does everyone you know have something useful?”
“I’m old.”
She laughed.
“Apartment above bakery.”
“Rent?”
He named the amount.
Affordable if she got the job.
Barely.
“Deposit?”
“Split payment.”
“Did she agree?”
“Yes.”
“You called already?”
The biker looked guilty.
“When?”
“Before tonight.”
The Mother stared.
“You were planning all this.”
“No.”
“Sounds planned.”
“I asked options.”
She folded the card.
“Why?”
He looked through the window.
The Little Boy slept.
“Because finding you under that bridge wasn't going to solve anything by itself.”
The Mother looked at him.
That might have been the most respectful thing anyone had said since she lost the apartment.
Not I'll save you.
Not I'll take care of everything.
Not You poor thing.
Only:
Finding you is not enough.
The biker started down the stairs.
The Mother stopped him.
“Biker.”
He turned.
“Thank you.”
His face immediately became uncomfortable.
She smiled.
“My husband hated being thanked too.”