“What did he fix?”
Ray smiled.
“My motorcycle.”
Leah looked at his Harley.
“This one?”
“No.”
“Another one?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
Ray looked at the highway.
“Your father saved my life.”
Leah went silent.
She stared at him.
“My dad?”
“Your dad.”
Before she could ask another question, an old Toyota pulled into the parking lot.
The passenger door was a different color from the rest of the car.
A tired woman stepped out.
Brown hair tied back.
Cleaning gloves still tucked into one pocket.
She saw Leah first.
Then Ray.
Her entire body became tense.
“Leah.”
The girl ran toward her.
“Mom!”
Sarah hugged her.
Then looked at Ray.
Leah spoke quickly.
“He paid me.”
Sarah frowned.
“For what?”
“I cleaned his motorcycle.”
Sarah closed her eyes.
“Leah.”
“I asked him after.”
Ray stepped forward.
“She didn't damage anything.”
Sarah looked at him carefully.
Then she noticed his vest.
Her expression changed.
Ray said quietly:
“Did Tom ever mention Ray Callahan?”
Sarah froze.
“What?”
“Ray Callahan.”
She stared at him.
Then whispered:
“California highway?”
Ray nodded.
Sarah covered her mouth.
“Oh my God.”
Twenty years had suddenly disappeared.
Sarah remembered the name.
Not because Ray had been famous.
Not because Tom had told stories about bikers.
Tom had rarely talked about dangerous people.
But he had talked about one particular rider.
A huge man.
A crashed Harley.
A stormy night.
A stranger who had almost died.
Sarah looked at Ray.
“You're him.”
Ray nodded.
“Tom told me about you.”
Ray swallowed.
“He talked about me?”
“All the time.”
Sarah gave a tired smile.
“He said you tried to pay him fifteen hundred dollars.”
Ray laughed quietly.
“Sounds like him.”
“He said you wouldn't take no.”
“I was trying to.”
“He said you finally offered to buy him dinner.”
Ray shook his head.
“Coffee.”
Sarah smiled.
“Coffee.”
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Leah looked from one adult to another.
“My dad knew you.”
Ray nodded.
“He did.”
“Was he your friend?”
Ray considered the question.
“We only knew each other for a short time.”
“But he saved you.”