A waitress behind the counter watched with one hand over her mouth.
Everett remained beside Caleb.
“What kind of car?”
“Blue.”
“That narrows it down.”
Caleb looked worried.
Everett smiled slightly.
“What kind?”
“I don’t know.”
“Old?”
“Yes.”
“How old?”
“My mom says older than me but not old enough to be interesting.”
A few bikers laughed.
Caleb smiled for half a second.
Then remembered why he was there.
His expression collapsed again.
“She hurt her foot.”
Everett’s smile vanished.
“How?”
“She tried pushing the car.”
“In traffic?”
“No.”
“She got it off the road.”
“What happened?”
Caleb looked down.
“She fell.”
Everett stood.
“We’re going now.”
Caleb took one step after him.
Then stopped.
Everett noticed.
“What?”
Caleb tightened his backpack strap.
“My mom says I’m not supposed to go in cars with strangers.”
The entire diner went quiet again.
One biker at the far end smiled.
“Smart mom.”
Everett nodded.
“She is.”
He removed one glove.
Then unfastened the small rectangular club contact patch sewn beneath the bear.
It had a phone number and roadside-assistance line embroidered across it.
Everett placed it in Caleb’s hand.
“You don’t have to go anywhere until we call her.”
Caleb studied it.
“You’ll wait?”
“As long as you want.”
Everett looked toward one of the bikers.
“Ray.”
A younger man immediately pulled out his phone.
Caleb gave them his mother’s number.
Ray dialed.
No answer.
Again.
Still nothing.
Caleb’s face tightened.
“She might not hear it.”
Everett asked:
“Does she have anyone else?”
The boy hesitated.
Then something changed.
He slowly pulled the purple backpack from his shoulder.
Everett watched him unzip the front pocket.
Caleb reached inside and removed a transparent plastic sleeve.
Something old was folded inside.
He took it out carefully.
A photograph.
Caleb held it toward Everett.
“My mom said if I ever saw the man with this…”
The boy pointed to the bear patch.
“…I should show him.”
Everett stopped moving.
The photograph trembled between Caleb’s fingers.
Everett took it.
Two people stood in front of an old motorcycle.
One was Everett.
Nearly twenty years younger.
Dark beard.
Less gray.
Same leather vest.
Same bear patch.
Beside him stood a teenage girl.
Long brown hair.
Denim jacket.
Arms wrapped around his waist from behind.
Smiling.
Everett forgot how to breathe.
The diner disappeared.
The storm disappeared.
Twenty years disappeared.
“Where did you get this?”
Caleb looked frightened again.
“Mom gave it to me.”
Everett’s voice cracked.
“What’s your mother’s name?”
Caleb said it.
“Rachel.”
One of the bikers behind Everett whispered:
“Oh God.”
Everett turned the photograph over.
Writing covered the back.
Faded ink.
A sentence.
If you ever need help and I can’t get you home, find your grandfather. He’ll still be wearing the bear.
Everett’s hand began shaking.