“You’re right.”
“Did you know it was snowing?”
“Eventually.”
“Mom says weather reports exist for a reason.”
Everett looked toward Lily’s mother.
“She’s got me there.”
Lily’s mother smiled.
For the next twenty minutes, Everett slowly warmed.
The shaking decreased.
He ate every spoonful of soup.
The cook added bread.
Everett protested.
Nobody listened.
His motorcycle remained outside, half-buried.
The rescue truck finally arrived.
Two highway emergency workers came inside.
They checked Everett.
Cold exposure.
Exhaustion.
Low body temperature, but improving.
One worker told him he was lucky.
Everett looked across the diner at Lily.
“I know.”
The rescue crew arranged to load the motorcycle onto a trailer.
Everett stood slowly.
His balance had returned.
He looked enormous again.
Less like a man who needed rescue.
More like someone people instinctively moved aside for.
Lily’s mother helped her put on her coat because they would be leaving soon too once county crews cleared the service road behind the diner.
Everett reached inside his vest.
The diner owner noticed.
His attention sharpened.
Everett pulled out a small object.
A worn metal pin.
Two wings.
A tiny number beneath them.
1.
He crouched in front of Lily.
The big man’s knees cracked.
Lily noticed.
“You’re old.”
Everett laughed.
“So I’m told.”
He opened her palm.
Placed the pin inside.
Her mother immediately stepped closer.
“What is that?”
“Nothing dangerous.”
Everett looked at Lily.
“This belonged to me a long time.”
Lily examined it.
“Is it expensive?”
“No.”
“Then why do you want me to have it?”
Everett became quiet.
“Because sometimes something is worth more because of what it reminds you of.”
Lily looked confused.
Everett closed her fingers around the pin.
“Tonight I needed reminding.”
The diner owner came closer.
His face had gone pale.
“Where did you get that?”
Everett looked at him.
For the first time, something in the old biker’s posture changed.
Not threatening.
Commanding.
“I earned it.”
The diner owner stared at the number.
Then the wings.
“You’re…”
Everett stood.
“Not tonight.”
The older man stopped speaking.
Lily looked between them.
Adults were constantly doing that.
Beginning sentences and deciding children were not supposed to hear the endings.
Everett put on his gloves.
Then looked at Lily one final time.
“Thank you for the soup.”
“You can bring the thermos back.”
Her mother laughed.
Everett smiled.
“I will.”
He followed the rescue workers outside.
Lily stood at the window.
The truck pulled away slowly, carrying his motorcycle behind it.
Red lights vanished into the snow.
The diner owner remained beside her.
He looked at the wing pin.
Lily held it up.
“Do you know what this is?”
He swallowed.
“I think so.”
“What?”
He looked toward the highway.
“Something I haven’t seen in thirty years.”
That answer was not useful.
Lily put the pin in her lunchbox.