Martha laughed.
"You're joking."
"No."
"I haven't ridden in twenty years."
"Then don't."
She looked at him.
"What if I want to?"
Dean smiled.
"Then we'll teach you again."
For the next several days, Martha watched as the riders restored the motorcycle.
They replaced wires.
Cleaned the carburetor.
Polished the chrome.
Rebuilt the brakes.
Nobody charged her.
Nobody asked for anything.
They simply worked.
On the seventh morning, Dean rolled the motorcycle into the sunlight.
Martha touched the handlebars.
Walter's fingerprints seemed to exist in every scratch.
She climbed onto the seat.
Her hands trembled.
Dean stood nearby.
"Ready?"
Martha looked down the driveway.
"No."
Then she started the engine.
The sound filled the valley.
Martha smiled.
"Now I am."
Martha rode only a short distance.
The first turn was slow.
The second was shaky.
By the third, she was laughing.
Dean followed behind her.
The other riders watched from the road.
When Martha returned, everyone cheered.
She removed her helmet.
Her gray hair was wild.
"Don't laugh."
Nobody did.
Lucy hugged her.
"You look amazing."
Martha looked at the motorcycle.
"I feel twenty again."
Dean smiled.
"Maybe that's why you needed to ride."
Martha looked toward the horizon.
"No."
She shook her head.
"I think I needed to remember that surviving isn't the same thing as living."
Dean said nothing.
He understood.