Plans became lists of things Daniel would not be there to do.
Teach Noah to shave.
First breakup.
Driving lesson.
Graduation.
Wedding.
The ordinary future disappeared one item at a time.
Hammer listened.
Daniel did not cry.
Not until he said:
“I don't need somebody to replace me.”
Hammer looked at him.
“I need somebody to show him that losing his father doesn't mean he loses every road we were supposed to take.”
Hammer stared at the photograph.
“Why me?”
Daniel smiled sadly.
“Because you didn't tell me everything would be okay.”
“What?”
“That day.”
“At the hospital.”
“My wife was in surgery.”
“My son was in trouble.”
“You could've given me some stupid speech.”
“You didn't.”
“You just let me sit on your bike.”
Hammer looked away.
Daniel continued.
“I've remembered that for eight years.”
“When I saw what your club does for kids, I thought…”
He stopped.
Hammer waited.
“I thought maybe the man who knew when to shut up was exactly the man I needed.”
Hammer laughed unexpectedly.
Daniel did too.
Then the laughter disappeared.
“What are you asking?”
Daniel pointed toward the photograph.
“One day, when Noah is ready, I want him to finish the ride I never got to take with him.”
Hammer frowned.
“What ride?”
Daniel reached into the bag again.
A folded map.
He opened it.
A route traced through three towns.
Past a lake.
Across a low mountain pass.
Ending at a small overlook.
“My dad took me there when I was sixteen.”
Daniel tapped the route.
“I was going to take Noah when he turned eighteen.”
Hammer looked at him.
“That's ten years away.”
“I know.”
“You want me to hold onto this for ten years?”
“If necessary.”
Hammer stared.
Daniel’s expression did not change.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
Hammer looked toward the photograph.
“What if he hates motorcycles?”
Daniel smiled.
“Then take him in a truck.”
“What if he doesn't want anything to do with some old biker?”
“Then give him the map.”
“And leave him alone.”
Hammer considered.
“What if I’m dead?”
Daniel's smile widened.
“Then I seriously misjudged the plan.”
Hammer laughed.
“So what exactly do you want me to promise?”
Daniel became quiet.
“When Noah is old enough to decide for himself, find him.”
“Tell him his dad had one last ride planned.”
“And if he wants to finish it…”
He pushed the photograph across the table.
“Go with him.”
Hammer looked down.
“That’s it?”
“No.”
Daniel smiled slightly.
“I want him to draw something on your motorcycle.”
Hammer stared.
“What?”
Daniel laughed.
That laugh lasted almost a full minute.
Hammer finally said:
“You're dying, so I'm going to give you some flexibility here.”
Daniel wiped his eyes.
“No.”
“I'm serious.”
“He draws constantly.”
“Always people on motorcycles.”
“I told him once your Harley was the first bike he technically ever rode because I sat on it before he was born.”
Hammer shook his head.
“That is terrible logic.”
“I’m his father.”
“I’m allowed.”