He wore his old leather vest.
Still no patches.
Lyra prepared to leave.
Then she removed Tommy's key ring from the ignition.
She walked over and placed it in Jack's hand.
"So you have something to hold on to."
Jack stared at it.
Then Lyra handed him another leather key ring.
It read:
For Lyra. Keep going.
Jack looked at her.
"You made this?"
"Hector helped."
"Poorly," Hector called from across the yard.
Jack almost laughed.
Then he became serious.
"You don't disappear."
Lyra looked away.
"I'm good at disappearing."
"I know."
He held her gaze.
"Don't."
The words hit harder than anything else he had said.
Nobody had ever asked her not to disappear.
Not because they needed her.
Not because her absence would hurt.
She swallowed.
"I don't have a phone."
Jack handed her one.
"I'm not taking it."
"Martha Lou bought it."
Martha Lou crossed her arms.
"You're calling every Sunday."
Lyra looked around at all of them.
Her throat tightened.
"Fine."
She mounted the Sportster.
The engine started.
Jack closed his eyes.
This time, the sound did not break him.
It held him up.
Lyra rode west.
Three Months
She crossed New Mexico.
Then Arizona.
Then Nevada.
She slept in cheap motels and sometimes beneath the stars.
She worked odd jobs.
She fixed motorcycles for strangers.
She drank gas station coffee.
She learned how wide the country really was.
Every Sunday, she called home.
At first, the calls were short.
"Bike's fine."
"Need a tire."
"Arizona is rude."
Then they became longer.
She talked about the Grand Canyon.
About a waitress who gave her free pie.
About a mechanic who offered her a job.
About people she met on the road.
She was changing.
Not into someone else.
Into someone who finally believed she was allowed to become herself.
One Sunday, from a motel outside Tucson, she said:
"I think I want to come back."
Jack didn't hesitate.
"Then come back."
"That easy?"
"No."
A pause.
"But do it anyway."
Three months after leaving Amarillo, Lyra returned.
She was thinner.
Tanner.
Older in the eyes.
But she was smiling.
Jack waited at the gate.
"Still runs?"
"Better than you."
"Probably."
And then he handed her a key.
Carter & Callahan
The key belonged to a small building on the edge of town.
Lyra stared at the dusty storefront.
"What is this?"
"Your shop."
"My what?"
Jack pointed toward a sign leaning against the wall.
CARTER & CALLAHAN
MOTORCYCLE REPAIR
Lyra stared at it.
"My name is first."
"You found the bike."
"You bought the building."
"You're younger."
"That's not an explanation."
"No."
She smiled.
"I don't know how to run a shop."