"It won't be inside."
"That makes me feel much better."
The boy ignored the sarcasm.
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small pair of pliers.
Ray noticed.
"Why do you carry those?"
The boy shrugged.
"Things break."
He began shaping the strip.
Bend.
Check.
Bend again.
He tested it against the damaged bracket.
Too long.
He trimmed the end.
Then he took one of Ray's clamps from the open tool roll.
Ray watched silently.
The boy wasn't guessing.
He was measuring.
He adjusted the brace until it sat against the bracket without interfering with the wiring.
Then he tightened the clamp.
He pressed the assembly with his thumb.
No movement.
"Try it."
Ray stared at him.
"If this catches fire, I'm haunting you."
The boy stood.
"You'd have to catch me first."
Ray laughed.
It surprised him.
He hadn't expected to laugh that morning.
He turned the key.
The motorcycle started.
Not coughed.
Started.
The engine settled into a deep, steady idle.
Ray stared.
Then looked at the boy.
Then back at the motorcycle.
He blipped the throttle.
The engine responded cleanly.
No rattle.
No hesitation.
No interruption.
Ray shut it off.
Then put both hands on top of his head.
"Kid."
The teenager looked at him.
"Tell me you didn't just fix that with junk from the gutter."
The boy gave the metal brace one final tug.
"It isn't junk if it gets you home."
Ray lowered his hands.
For the first time, he looked at the boy rather than the motorcycle.
Thin wrists.
Jacket too light for the weather.
Backpack that looked like it contained everything the kid owned.
No car.
No bicycle.
No adult.
No food.
Ray asked:
"What's your name?"
The boy hesitated.
"Eli."
"Eli what?"
Another pause.
"Carter."
Ray held out his hand.
"Ray Mercer."
Eli wiped his palm against his jeans before shaking.
Ray asked:
"Where'd you learn mechanics?"
Eli looked toward the motorcycle.
"My dad fixed things."
"Motorcycles?"
"Everything."
"Still does?"
Eli's fingers stopped moving.
"No."
Ray recognized the boundary.
He didn't push.
Instead, he pulled two twenties from his wallet and placed them on the motorcycle seat.
"For the repair."
Eli looked at the money.
Then at Ray.
"No."
"You fixed the bike."
"Yeah."
"That normally gets paid."
"I don't want it."
Ray frowned.
"Then for food."
"No."
"Kid."
"I said no."
He wasn't being rude.
He was being firm.
Ray slowly picked up the money.
"Fine."
Eli nodded.
Then reached for his backpack.
Ray stopped him.
"Wait."
Eli looked back.
"I remember favors."
"I didn't do you a favor so you'd owe me."
"I know."
"That makes it worse."
Ray smiled faintly.
"Means I owe you because I want to."
Eli lifted the backpack onto one shoulder.
"Motorcycle runs. We're even."
Ray looked at him.
"Where are you headed?"
"North."
"That's not a place."
"Works for me."
"You traveling?"
"Something like that."
Ray glanced at the backpack.
"You got somewhere tonight?"
The boy looked toward the highway.
"I'll figure it out."
Ray had heard that sentence before.
From younger riders.
From men sleeping in trucks.
From veterans with nowhere to go.
From himself.
I'll figure it out.
Sometimes it meant I have a plan.
More often it meant:
Please stop asking because I don't have one.
Ray looked at the boy.
"You running from somebody?"
Eli looked at him.
Ray raised one hand.
"None of my business."
"No."
"No, you're not running?"
"No. It isn't your business."
Ray laughed quietly.
"Fair enough."
Eli adjusted his backpack.
Ray asked:
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen."
"Seventeen."
"Yeah."
Ray nodded slowly.
Then he looked toward the highway.
"Where are you sleeping tonight?"
Eli didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
The Empty Backpack
Ray had always believed that there were two kinds of silence.
The first kind was peaceful.
The second kind was an answer.
Eli's silence belonged to the second.
Ray leaned against the motorcycle.
"You hungry?"
"I'm fine."
"That's not what I asked."
"I'm not hungry."
Ray looked at him.
Eli looked back.
Neither moved.
Finally Ray pointed toward the gas station.
"Come on."
"I don't have money."
"I didn't ask you for any."
"I can pay for my own food."
"With what?"
Eli's jaw tightened.
Ray immediately softened his voice.
"Look, kid. I'm not trying to embarrass you."
"I'm not embarrassed."
"Good."
Ray opened the gas station door.
"Then let's get something to eat."
Eli stayed where he was.
Ray walked inside.
After a moment, he heard footsteps behind him.
The gas station had a small counter with hot food beneath heat lamps.
Ray bought two sandwiches, chips, two bottles of water, and a coffee.
He carried everything to a small table near the window.
Eli sat opposite him.
He looked at the food for several seconds before touching it.
Ray noticed.
He didn't comment.
Eli finally unwrapped the sandwich.
He took one bite.
Then another.
By the third, he was eating quickly.
Ray pretended not to notice.
He took a slow sip of coffee.
"Your dad teach you all that?"
Eli stopped chewing.
"Some of it."
"What did he do?"
"Worked."
Ray smiled.
"That's vague."
"He fixed farm equipment."
"Cars?"
"Cars."
"Trucks?"
"Trucks."
"Motorcycles?"
"Mostly motorcycles."
Ray nodded.
"What happened to him?"
Eli stared down at the sandwich.
"He died."
Ray's expression changed.
"I'm sorry."
Eli nodded.
"Three months ago."
Ray didn't speak.
Three months.
That explained the backpack.
The road.
The seventeen-year-old pretending he had a destination.
"What about your mom?"
Eli looked through the window.
"She left when I was little."
"Anyone else?"
"No."
Ray sat back.
He wanted to ask more.