Young man now.
Eli started the engine.
The same rumble he had first heard while sitting on the bike outside the hospital.
He looked toward Sarah.
Then Hank.
Hank nodded.
Eli released the clutch.
The motorcycle moved.
Slowly.
Carefully.
One lap.
Then another.
When he stopped, his face was wet.
Hank assumed wind.
So did Eli.
Sarah hugged him.
“You okay?”
He nodded.
“It felt like…”
He looked at the Harley.
“I don't know.”
Sarah understood.
“It doesn't have to feel like anything.”
Eli nodded.
Then hugged Hank.
“Thank you.”
Hank looked toward the scratched tank.
“You're welcome.”
Two years later came the decision Hank had first promised.
Eli turned twenty-one.
They met in Hank’s garage.
Sarah stood beside him.
Hank placed three folders on the workbench.
Eli frowned.
“What’s that?”
“Trust papers.”
Hank opened the first.
“The motorcycle can become fully yours.”
“Today.”
Eli stared.
Hank pointed toward the second.
“Or we keep shared ownership.”
“You ride.”
“I ride.”
“Your future kids get confused.”
Sarah smiled.
“Future kids?”
Eli looked horrified.
Hank ignored him.
“Third option.”
“Sell it.”
Eli immediately shook his head.
“No.”
Hank smiled.
“Expected that.”
Eli looked at the first two folders.
“You want me to take it?”
Hank thought.
This question had waited years.
“Part of me does.”
“And part?”
“Part of me has fifteen years wrapped around that machine.”
Eli nodded.
Hank continued.
“Your dad’s story doesn't erase mine.”
“My story doesn't erase yours.”
“That's the thing I finally figured out.”
Eli looked toward the Harley.
Then selected the second folder.
Shared ownership.
Hank smiled.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Eli looked at him.
“Because Dad sold it.”
“You kept it alive.”
“And we found each other because you had it.”
He shrugged.
“Feels wrong to take you out of the story.”
Hank could not speak for a moment.
Sarah touched his arm.
Eli signed.
Hank signed.
Sarah witnessed.
The Harley officially belonged to two families.
Which by then felt increasingly like one.
Hank married Sarah the following spring.
The ceremony was small.
Eli stood beside Hank.
Ray stood beside him.
A framed photograph of Daniel rested on a table near Sarah’s mother’s photograph.
Nobody treated the picture as awkward.
Daniel belonged there.
At the reception, Hank found himself standing beside it alone.
He looked at the photograph.
Daniel in his twenties.
Leaning against the Harley.
Same tank scratch.
Same grin Eli wore sometimes.
Hank held a glass.
“I hope this is okay.”
Of course no answer came.
Then Eli appeared beside him.
“He'd like you.”
Hank looked at him.
“You don't know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
“How?”
Eli smiled.
“Mom likes you.”
“And Dad thought Mom was almost always right.”
Hank laughed.
“Almost?”