Rachel laughed.
Hammer continued.
“After he died, I decided this would be my last hospital ride.”
Rachel looked toward the Harley.
“Today?”
“Yes.”
“My knees hurt.”
“I'm tired.”
“Half these guys think I need to supervise every charity event because I started them.”
“I planned to hand the whole thing over.”
Rachel looked toward Noah.
Hammer did too.
Then he smiled.
“I guess Daniel had other plans.”
When they returned to the hospital, the charity event was winding down.
Noah walked directly toward the Harley.
He touched the drawing.
“Can we keep it?”
Rachel looked at Hammer.
Surely this was where reality returned.
The motorcycle was valuable.
Paint could be restored.
The promise had been honored.
Hammer studied the tank.
One biker brought the solvent again.
He held it up.
“Last chance before that stuff cures.”
Hammer stared.
Then shook his head.
“Put it away.”
The biker smiled.
“You sure?”
“No.”
Everyone laughed.
Hammer looked toward Noah.
“But leave it.”
Noah’s eyes widened.
“Forever?”
Hammer raised an eyebrow.
“Let's not get dramatic.”
“How long?”
Hammer considered.
“Until I stop needing it.”
Noah nodded as though that made perfect sense.
Rachel whispered:
“What does that mean?”
Hammer looked at the white figure.
Daniel.
Then the tiny child.
Then the blue wristband.
“I don't know yet.”
That night, Rachel put Noah to bed.
He carried a printed copy of the photograph Hammer had made at the hospital office.
He placed it beside Daniel’s picture on his nightstand.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Was Dad scared when I was born?”
Rachel sat beside him.
“Very.”
“Were you?”
“Yes.”
“Did Hammer help him?”
“I think so.”
Noah looked toward the photograph.
“Can grown-ups get scared even if they're big?”
Rachel smiled.
“All the time.”
“Hammer is really big.”
“I noticed.”
Noah thought.
“Dad trusted him.”
“Yes.”
“Do you?”
Rachel hesitated.
Children always noticed hesitation.
“I think I'm learning to.”
Noah nodded.
Then rolled onto his side.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Dad knew I would draw him.”
“He hoped you would.”
“What if I drew him wrong?”
Rachel remembered Daniel’s letter.
She kissed Noah’s forehead.
“Your father specifically said you were allowed to.”
Noah smiled.
“Good.”
Within minutes, he slept.
Rachel did not.
She sat in the kitchen with Daniel’s letter until after midnight.
Again and again, she read one line.
If you ever love somebody again, please do not turn me into a locked door.
She was not ready for that line.
She did not know whether she ever would be.
But she folded the letter carefully instead of putting it back in its envelope.
That was something.
The next morning, Hammer texted.
Tank survived overnight.