Arthur stood beside the motorcycle with one hand resting on the tank.
For the first time in years, he wasn't remembering Daniel's death.
He was remembering Daniel alive.
Laughing.
Riding.
Calling him old man.
And suddenly the motorcycle wasn't a relic.
It was a doorway.
The Photograph
At 12:46, Mason found Arthur studying the photograph again.
“You nervous?”
Arthur nodded.
“About the ride?”
“No.”
He looked at the photograph.
“About getting there.”
Mason understood.
Arthur's greatest fear wasn't that the motorcycle would break down.
It was that the memorial ride would be empty.
“What if nobody comes?” Arthur asked.
Mason leaned against the workbench.
“Then you ride anyway.”
Arthur looked at him.
“What if I'm the only one?”
“Then Daniel still gets his ride.”
Arthur stared at the photograph.
Mason continued.
“Sometimes keeping a promise isn't about who sees you keep it.”
Arthur folded the photograph.
“You always talk this much?”
“Only when I'm avoiding actual work.”
Arthur laughed.
Then Mason noticed something.
A small patch sewn inside Arthur's jacket.
It read:
DANIEL BENNETT — RIDE FREE
Mason nodded toward it.
“Where'd you get that?”
“Danny's friends made it.”
“Still have contact with any of them?”
Arthur shook his head.
“Not really.”
Mason took out his phone.
“Maybe that's about to change.”
The Call
Mason searched through the photograph.
One biker's jacket displayed a name.
Another had a club patch.
Arthur remembered a few names.
Mason made calls.
The first number was disconnected.
The second went to voicemail.
The third answered.
A woman's voice said hello.
Mason explained who he was.
Silence.
Then she asked:
“Arthur Bennett?”
Mason looked at Arthur.
“Yes.”
The woman began crying.
“Is his bike there?”
Mason nodded even though she couldn't see him.
“Yes.”
“Is Arthur okay?”
“He's fine.”
Another silence.
Then:
“Tell him we're coming.”
Mason hung up.
Arthur stared at him.
“Who was that?”
“Daniel's old friend.”
Arthur's face changed.
“Who?”
“Emily.”
Arthur looked away.
“She stopped calling.”
“She wants to come.”
Arthur swallowed.
“Why?”
“Because she never stopped caring.”
For a moment Arthur couldn't speak.
Then the motorcycle coughed from the lift.
Mason smiled.
“Sounds like she's ready too.”
The Last Repair
At 1:17, the motorcycle was almost ready.
The gasket was replaced.
The fuel system was cleaned.
The brakes were adjusted.
The tire was mounted.
Mason checked every bolt twice.
Then he looked at Arthur.
“Helmet?”
Arthur held up an old half-shell helmet.
Mason frowned.
“That thing older than you?”
“Probably.”
“Wear it.”
Arthur smiled.
Mason handed him a newer helmet.
“Take mine.”
“No.”
“Arthur.”