The girl climbed out.
She had removed her shoes in the car, something she did constantly, so she stepped onto the cool concrete wearing only socks.
Sarah barely noticed.
Ellie began walking.
Not toward the store.
Not toward the restroom.
Toward pump six.
A black Harley stood there.
Beside it was a man.
Early sixties.
Maybe a little older.
Broad.
Gray beard.
Faded jeans.
Black boots.
Charcoal shirt.
Old leather vest.
He held the fuel nozzle in one hand and stared at the pump display.
Sarah hurried after Ellie.
“Sweetheart.”
Ellie kept moving.
The biker heard them.
He turned.
His eyes moved from Sarah to the child.
For one second, there was nothing.
Then his face changed.
Sarah saw it happen.
Confusion.
Recognition.
Shock.
Fear.
The nozzle slipped from his hand.
It struck the concrete.
The automatic shutoff had already stopped the fuel, but several drops splashed across one boot.
The man did not notice.
Ellie stopped several feet away.
“Ray.”
The biker’s lips parted.
His right hand began trembling.
He looked like a man seeing someone return from the dead.
“How…”
He swallowed.
“How do you know that name?”
Sarah reached Ellie and placed both hands carefully around her shoulders.
Her daughter was trembling.
Sarah probably was too.
“I’m sorry.”
The biker looked at her.
“I don't know what is happening.”
Ellie stared at him.
Sarah’s voice cracked.
“She doesn’t talk.”
The man frowned.
“What?”
“She hasn't spoken in three years.”
His face drained.
Sarah continued because the words would not stop now.
“Not one word.”
“She hasn't said anything since…”
She stopped.
The biker slowly lowered himself onto one knee.
He did not approach Ellie.
He stayed several feet away.
“Sweetheart.”
His voice softened.
“Nobody calls me Ray anymore.”
Ellie kept staring.
“I use Reggie now.”
Sarah looked between them.
“My first name is Raymond.”
He swallowed.
“But almost nobody knows that.”
Sarah pulled Ellie slightly closer.
The man's eyes filled.
He looked at the child again.
Then asked Sarah:
“Her father.”
Something in his tone made every instinct inside her sharpen.
“What about him?”
“What happened to him?”
Sarah hesitated.
“He died.”
Ray closed his eyes.
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
His jaw tightened.
“Where?”
Sarah felt suddenly reluctant to answer.
She did anyway.
“Route 9.”
Ray opened his eyes.
His voice dropped.
“Near the old quarry?”
Sarah stopped breathing.
The police had called it mile marker 117.
The newspaper called it the western bend.
But Danny had called that section the quarry curve for twenty years.
Sarah stared.
“Yes.”
Ray sat back.
“Oh, God.”