“So do I.”
Rick laughed despite himself.
Walter continued.
“I spent forty-one years as a machinist. Before that, I worked on motorcycles.”
“You were a mechanic?”
“Never professionally.”
“Then where?”
Walter looked toward the blue motorcycle.
“With my brother.”
Rick waited.
But Walter said nothing more.
Finally, Rick asked:
“What happens October seventeenth?”
Walter’s expression changed.
“It needs to be on the road.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“No.”
Rick studied him.
There was something behind the old man’s request that Walter clearly did not want to explain.
Rick finally opened the office door.
“I’ll make you a deal.”
Walter waited.
“You pay for whatever parts we absolutely need. You help whenever you can. I’ll give you the lift after hours.”
“What about labor?”
“We’ll see.”
Walter extended his hand.
Rick shook it.
“Don’t thank me yet,” Rick said. “We might open that engine tomorrow and discover you brought me a very expensive piece of furniture.”
Walter smiled faintly.
“Tomorrow, then.”
As he left, Tyler watched from across the shop.
“You’re really doing this?” he asked Rick.
“I’m inspecting it.”
“For free?”
Rick shrugged.
“Old guy’s wasting his money.”
Walter stopped at the door.
He turned.
“Young man?”
Tyler looked at him.
“Yes?”
Walter smiled.
“When we get it running, you owe me a cup of coffee.”
Tyler laughed.
“If you get that thing running, I’ll buy you coffee for the rest of your life.”
Walter nodded.
“Careful making promises to old men.”
“Why?”
“We don’t have enough time left to forget them.”
Walter returned the next morning at seven.
Apex did not open until eight.
Rick found him waiting outside.
“You’re early.”
“I've been waking up before six since 1969.”
“That sounds terrible.”
“You get used to it.”
They rolled the motorcycle onto the lift and began.
Removing the engine took most of the morning.
Walter worked slowly but precisely.
Rick soon noticed something.
The old man did not reach randomly for tools.
He knew exactly which wrench he needed before a bolt was visible.
He knew where hidden fasteners were located.
He knew which parts required patience.
When Tyler tried forcing a corroded bolt, Walter stopped him.
“You’ll snap it.”
“It’ll move.”
“No.”
Tyler pulled harder.
The bolt broke.
Tyler stared at it.
Walter said nothing.
Rick smiled.
“Listen to Grandpa.”
Walter glanced at him.
“Don’t call me Grandpa unless you're prepared to mow my lawn.”
Rick laughed.
By noon, the engine sat on the workbench.
When they opened it, the news was mixed.
There was corrosion, but the damage was not catastrophic.
Rick examined the cylinders.
“This is better than I expected.”
Walter nodded.
“My brother stored it properly at first.”
“At first?”
Walter became quiet.
Rick did not push.
They continued.
During lunch, Walter sat alone beside the motorcycle eating a ham sandwich wrapped in wax paper.
Rick joined him.
“Your brother younger or older?”
“Younger. Two years.”
“What was his name?”
“Daniel.”
“He ride much?”
Walter smiled.
“Everywhere.”
For the first time, Rick saw something youthful appear in Walter's face.
“He bought this bike when he was twenty-one. Worked two jobs for almost a year. Our mother nearly killed him when he brought it home.”
Rick laughed.
“Sounds familiar.”
“Daniel loved speed. I loved machines.”
“Good combination.”
“Terrible combination.”
The smile faded.
Walter stared at the floor.
“In 1974, Daniel married a girl named Margaret. Two years later they had a daughter, Emily.”
Rick listened.
“After that, he stopped racing. Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
Walter smiled faintly.
“You couldn't completely stop Daniel.”
“What happened to him?”
Walter rubbed his hands together.
“Cancer.”
Rick had expected an accident.
Perhaps that made the answer worse.
“He was thirty-eight.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.”
Time, Rick thought, did not always make something small.
Sometimes it simply taught people how to carry it.
Walter continued.
“Before he died, he gave me the motorcycle. Said Emily should have it one day.”
“So why didn't she?”
Walter looked away.
“Because I made a mistake.”
Walter did not explain that mistake until several days later.
By then, the Apex crew had become invested despite themselves.
The motorcycle occupied the rear lift like a patient in intensive care.
Parts covered two tables.
The fuel tank had been cleaned.
The carburetor was soaking.
Rick had found replacement gaskets.
Tyler had stopped making jokes.
One evening, Walter and Rick remained after everyone else had left.
Rain tapped against the windows.
Walter was polishing an old engine cover.
“Emily hated motorcycles after Daniel died,” he said suddenly.
Rick looked up.
Walter continued working.
“She was twelve. She decided the bike had somehow stolen her father.”
“But he died from cancer.”
“Grief doesn't always care about logic.”
Rick nodded.
“When she turned eighteen, Daniel's will said the motorcycle belonged to her.”
Walter paused.
“I refused to give it to her.”
“Why?”
“I told myself I was protecting her.”
“From riding?”
“From losing the last thing her father loved.”
Walter put down the cloth.
“The truth was uglier.”
Rick waited.
“I couldn't let it go.”
The rain grew heavier.
“Emily screamed at me. Said I cared more about a machine than I cared about her. I told her she was too young to understand.”
Walter laughed bitterly.
“There are few sentences more foolish than telling a grieving person they're too young to understand grief.”
“What happened?”
“She left town for college. We talked occasionally. Christmas. Birthdays. Then less.”
Walter stared at the motorcycle.
“Eventually, not at all.”
“How long?”
“Twenty-two years.”
Rick stopped working.
“Twenty-two?”
Walter nodded.
“Then three months ago she called.”
“What did she say?”
“She said her son was getting married.”
“Your grandnephew?”
“Daniel's grandson. His name is Noah.”
Walter smiled.
“I'd never met him.”
Rick understood.
“October seventeenth.”
“The wedding.”
Walter nodded.
“Emily invited me.”
“And the bike?”
“She didn't ask for it.”
“Then why—”
“Because Noah knows about it.”
Walter took the photograph from his pocket.
“He grew up hearing stories about his grandfather and this motorcycle. Emily told him everything except where the bike was.”
Rick leaned against the bench.
“What are you planning?”
“I’m going to give it to him.”
“At the wedding?”
“Yes.”
Rick stared at Walter.
“Does Emily know?”
“No.”
“That could go very badly.”
“I know.”
“After twenty-two years, you think showing up with the reason you stopped speaking is a good idea?”
“No.”
Walter's answer surprised him.