He removed a faded blue bandanna.
Something rectangular was wrapped inside.
Hammer stood there for a moment.
Not moving.
Then returned.
He no longer looked intimidating.
He looked afraid.
Rachel felt Noah’s hand slip into hers.
Hammer stopped in front of them.
He opened the bandanna.
Inside was an old photograph.
The edges were soft from age.
A crease crossed one corner.
Hammer handed it to Rachel.
She looked down.
Her knees nearly failed.
“No.”
The word came out as a breath.
The motorcycle in the photograph was unmistakable.
Same black tank.
Same chrome.
Same seat.
Same tiny nick below the fuel cap.
Hammer stood beside it, younger by several years.
His beard was darker.
His hair had barely any gray.
And sitting on the motorcycle was Daniel Carter.
Rachel’s husband.
Daniel was younger too.
Thirty-one.
Maybe thirty-two.
Backward cap.
Uneven beard.
Wide smile.
One hand resting on the handlebar.
And around his left wrist was a bright blue hospital band.
Rachel covered her mouth.
Noah leaned closer.
“Dad.”
Hammer looked at the boy.
“Yes.”
Rachel looked up sharply.
“How?”
Hammer swallowed.
She looked at the photograph again.
“I was there that day.”
The hospital behind them was the same hospital they were standing outside now.
Rachel recognized the older entrance before the renovation.
She remembered those windows.
She remembered that summer.
Eight years earlier.
The morning Noah was born.
Rachel’s hands began shaking.
“That was…”
Hammer nodded.
“The day he was waiting for you.”
Noah stared at him.
Hammer continued quietly.
“Your dad was walking around this parking lot because the nurses told him he was making everybody nervous upstairs.”
Rachel gave a broken laugh.
That sounded exactly like Daniel.
During labor, he had paced so constantly that a nurse finally ordered him to get coffee.
Rachel had assumed he went to the cafeteria.
Apparently he went outside.
Hammer looked at the photograph.
“I was here with a charity ride.”
“First year we ever did one.”
“Only seven bikes back then.”
He nodded toward the Harley.
“Your dad saw this one.”
“He stood there staring at it for about five minutes.”
“I asked whether he wanted to sit on it.”
Rachel whispered:
“Daniel would never ask.”
“No.”
Hammer almost smiled.
“He didn't.”
“That’s why I offered.”
Noah looked from the photograph to the drawing.
“He wore that band?”
Hammer nodded.
“Hospital gave him one when your mom checked in.”
Noah looked toward Rachel.
“Why?”
“So they knew Dad belonged with us.”
Noah considered that.
Then looked back at the picture.
Hammer’s thumb touched the edge.
“He told me he used to ride.”
“Said he sold his last motorcycle after you two found out a baby was coming.”
Rachel stared.
“He told you that?”
“Yes.”
Daniel rarely spoke about selling the bike.
Rachel had known it hurt him.
He never complained.
He simply said motorcycles could wait.
Babies could not.
Hammer continued.