An independent harness crossed Ben's chest and hips.
The windshield curved around him.
Frank had one more surprise.
Painted on the sidecar were two words:
CARTER ONE
Ben stared.
"What's that?"
Frank smiled.
"Your ride."
"Why Carter One?"
"Sounded cool."
Tommy interrupted.
"He spent three days naming it."
"Traitor."
Ben touched the lettering.
Then noticed something beneath it.
Smaller words.
RIDE FORWARD
Ben looked at Frank.
"What's that?"
Frank shrugged.
"Thought it fit."
Laura arrived for the first test.
She looked terrified.
Rachel, the mobility engineer, performed the final safety inspection.
"Ramp."
Tommy activated it.
"Locking mechanism."
Click.
"Emergency release."
Working.
"Secondary restraint."
Working.
"Tire pressure."
Correct.
"Lighting."
Working.
"Brake integration."
Working.
Everything passed.
Frank put on his helmet.
Ben wore a full-face helmet and protective jacket.
Laura stood beside him.
"You're sure?"
"Mom."
"That's not an answer."
"Yes."
"You don't have to do this because everybody built it."
"I know."
"If you're scared—"
"I am scared."
Laura stopped.
Ben looked at her.
"But I still want to."
She closed her eyes.
Then kissed his helmet.
"Okay."
The first ride was supposed to be three miles.
Slow.
Back roads.
No highway.
Frank accelerated gently.
Ben felt the vibration through his chair.
Then movement.
The shop disappeared behind them.
Wind struck his helmet.
Fields opened on both sides.
For the first hundred yards, Ben gripped the armrests.
Then something happened.
He relaxed.
Frank looked toward him.
Ben was smiling.
Not politely.
Not cautiously.
He was laughing.
Frank increased speed slightly.
Thirty miles per hour.
Then forty.
Ben raised both arms.
Frank shouted:
"Hold on!"
Ben laughed louder.
They reached the planned turnaround.
Frank stopped.
"You good?"
Ben nodded violently.
"Again."
"Again what?"
"Keep going."
"Your mom will kill me."
"Probably."
Frank looked back toward the road.
"Five more miles."
"Ten."
"Five."
"Eight."
"You're thirteen."
"Seven."
Frank sighed.
"Fine."
They rode seven more miles.
When they returned, Laura was crying.
Ben became worried.
"Mom?"
She hugged him before he could remove the helmet.
"Are you mad?"
"No."
"Then why are you crying?"
Laura looked at him.
"Because you looked like your dad."
Ben froze.
"How?"
"The smile."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Ben smiled again.
Laura laughed through her tears.
"Exactly that one."
Frank turned away.
Tommy noticed.
"You crying?"
"No."
"Looks like crying."
"Sun."
"We're inside."
"Shut up."
The club held a celebration that evening.
Ben received an honorary Mercy's Rebels patch.
It did not say member.
It said:
CREW
He wore it proudly.
The first test was successful.
But Rachel insisted they continue testing before longer rides.
Weight simulations.
Emergency braking.
Sharp turns.
Rain.
Uneven pavement.
Frank complained.
Rachel ignored him.
"Safety isn't negotiable."
Ben agreed.
That ended Frank's argument.
Two months later, Carter One was officially road-ready.
The Mercy's Rebels planned Ben's first long ride.
Fifty miles.
A scenic route through Mill Creek County.
Ben counted the days.
Then, three nights before the ride, disaster struck.
A storm hit the county.
Lightning.
Wind.
Hail.
At 1:40 a.m., Frank received a call from the shop's alarm company.
He drove there immediately.
A tree had fallen through the rear section of the building.
Rain poured inside.
The roof collapsed over the fabrication area.
And beneath twisted metal and broken timber sat Carter One.
Crushed.
Ben learned the next morning.
Frank wanted to tell him in person.
He arrived at the Carter house at seven.
Laura opened the door.
One look at his face told her.
"What happened?"
"Storm."
"Anyone hurt?"
"No."
She exhaled.
"Then whatever it is, we can fix it."
Frank looked toward Ben's room.
"I hope so."
Ben came out.
"Why are you here?"
Frank showed him photographs.
The sidecar's outer frame was bent.
Windshield shattered.
Ramp mechanism damaged.
The motorcycle had fallen against a steel beam.
Ben stared.
"The ride?"
Frank shook his head.
"Not this weekend."
Ben looked at the photographs.
"Can you fix it?"
"Yes."
"When?"
Frank hesitated.
That hesitation answered.
Insurance inspectors needed to visit.
The building required structural repairs.
Parts had to be reordered.
Weeks.
Maybe months.
Ben nodded.
"Okay."
Frank hated the calmness.
"Kid—"
"It's okay."
"No, it's not."
"It's just a motorcycle."
Frank stared.
Ben forced a smile.
"We'll fix it."
Then he rolled into his bedroom and closed the door.
Laura waited.
Five minutes.
Then entered.
Ben was staring at Michael's photograph.
"I'm fine."
"I didn't ask."
"I know you're going to."
Laura sat.
"It's okay to be disappointed."
"It's stupid."
"No."
"It's a motorcycle."