“Rebecca is coming.”
Margaret seemed surprised.
“You spoke to her?”
“Yes.”
“Is she angry?”
“No.”
“She'll be angry.”
“She's worried.”
Margaret lowered her head.
“I shouldn't have driven.”
“It happens.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“I knew I wasn't supposed to.”
There was painful clarity in her expression now.
“I remembered this morning.”
Luke didn't know what to say.
Margaret continued.
“I wanted to go home.”
“Where's home?”
“Fairview.”
“That where you grew up?”
She nodded.
“My husband and I had a house there.”
Luke crouched beside the damaged tire.
“You were trying to go there?”
“I think so.”
“Why today?”
Margaret looked confused again.
Then she touched her wedding ring.
“My husband is waiting.”
Luke stopped.
Rebecca had said nothing about Margaret's husband.
“How long have you been married?”
“Fifty-two years.”
“What's his name?”
“Thomas.”
She smiled.
“Everyone calls him Tom.”
Bear had walked close enough to hear.
He and Luke exchanged a glance.
Luke didn't want to ask the obvious question.
Margaret answered it anyway.
“He'll be wondering where I am.”
She looked toward the road.
“I promised I'd be home before supper.”
Luke felt something tighten in his chest.
When Rebecca called again ten minutes later, he stepped away from Margaret.
“Rebecca?”
“I'm on the highway.”
“There's something I should ask.”
“What?”
“Where's your father?”
Rebecca became silent.
Luke already knew.
“He died four years ago,” she said.
Luke looked back at Margaret.
She was sitting beneath the shade beside the garage.
Bear had brought her a bottle of water.
“She thinks he's alive.”
Rebecca's voice softened.
“Some days she remembers. Some days she doesn't.”
“She says she's trying to get home to him.”
Rebecca began crying.
Luke waited.
After several seconds she said, “Today would've been their fifty-third wedding anniversary.”
Now Luke understood.
Margaret hadn't driven randomly.
Somewhere beneath the confusion, beneath damaged memories and disappearing names, something had remained.
An anniversary.
A promise.
Home before supper.
“I'll stay with her,” Luke said.
“Thank you.”
He ended the call.
When he returned, Margaret was studying Bear's tattoos.
“What does that one mean?”
Bear looked at the wolf tattoo on his forearm.
“Bad decisions.”
Margaret laughed.
Bear looked surprised.
“You think that's funny?”
“Very.”
“Finally. Someone appreciates me.”
Luke smiled.
For the next twenty minutes, Margaret seemed almost completely normal.
She talked about gardening.
She complained about modern cars.
She told Bear his beard made him look like a criminal.
Bear responded that this was intentional.
Then Margaret suddenly looked around.
Her smile disappeared.
“Where's Tom?”
Luke's heart sank.
“We're waiting for Rebecca.”
“Who's Rebecca?”
Bear looked away.
Luke sat beside Margaret.
“Your daughter.”
“I don't have a daughter.”
“Yes, ma'am. You do.”
Fear appeared in her eyes.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Luke.”
“Why am I here?”
“You had car trouble.”
Margaret stood.
“I need to leave.”
Luke stood too.
“Your car isn't safe.”
“Give me my keys.”
“I can't do that.”
Her fear became anger.
“Those are my keys!”
“Mrs. Holloway—”
“Give them to me!”
The Iron Wolves turned toward them.
Margaret saw the bikers.
She panicked.
“Help!”
Luke raised both hands.
“Nobody's going to hurt you.”
“Stay away from me!”
She backed toward the highway.
Luke froze.
One wrong movement could make her run.
And traffic was moving at sixty miles per hour.
“Margaret,” he said quietly.
She stared at him.
“Who are you?”
Luke remembered something his father used to say when frightened customers arrived after accidents.
Don't argue with fear. Give it somewhere safe to go.
Luke pointed toward the garage.
“My name is Luke Parker.”
He showed her the sign.
“This is Parker's Garage.”
Margaret looked.
“You're a mechanic?”
“Yes.”
“My husband was a mechanic.”
Luke smiled.
“Then he'd probably tell you not to drive with a broken radiator hose.”
Margaret stared at him.
Something changed.
The panic weakened.
“Tom would say that.”
“Smart man.”
“He could fix anything.”
“So could my father.”
Margaret slowly lowered her hands.
Luke gestured toward a chair.
“Would you tell me about Tom?”
She hesitated.
Then sat.
For the next forty minutes, Margaret told him everything she could remember.
How she met Thomas Holloway at a county fair in 1969.
How he spilled lemonade on her dress.
How she refused his first request for a date.
How he asked again.
And again.
And how she finally said yes because, as Margaret put it, “persistence was cheaper than replacing all the lemonade he kept buying.”
Bear laughed so loudly that people inside the garage turned around.
But as Margaret spoke, Luke noticed something remarkable.
She couldn't remember where she was.
She had forgotten Rebecca for several minutes.
She couldn't remember that Tom was dead.
Yet she remembered the color of the dress she wore on their first date.
Yellow.
She remembered the song playing when he proposed.
She remembered the tiny house they bought.
And she remembered something else.
A promise Tom made on their wedding day.
“Every anniversary,” Margaret said, “he promised he'd bring me one yellow rose.”
Luke looked at her.
“Every year?”
“Every single year.”
She smiled.
“Never forgot.”
Then her smile slowly disappeared.
“I'm late.”
Luke didn't understand.
“For what?”
“Our anniversary dinner.”
She looked toward the road.
“Tom is waiting.”
Before Luke could answer, a black pickup truck entered the parking lot far too quickly.
Gravel flew beneath its tires.
The vehicle stopped.
A man jumped out.
He looked furious.
And he was walking directly toward Margaret.
The stranger was perhaps forty-five, with a shaved head and a heavy build. He slammed the driver's door and crossed the parking lot.
“Margaret!”
Margaret stood.
Luke stepped between them.
“You know him?”
She looked confused.
The man answered for her.
“Of course she knows me.”
He reached for Margaret.
Luke blocked him.
“Easy.”
The man's eyes narrowed.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Luke Parker.”
“I don't care.”
He pointed toward Margaret.
“She's coming with me.”
Bear and the Iron Wolves watched from the garage.
Luke didn't move.
“Who are you?”