"Yes."
"Even after they separated?"
"Apparently."
"Then why didn't they get back together?"
Elias sighed.
"Because love isn't always enough."
Nora looked down.
"That's a terrible lesson."
"It's also a true one."
The Woman at the Door
Rebecca Reed arrived at Carter's Garage two days later.
Elias knew who she was before she introduced herself.
The resemblance to Michael was unmistakable.
She had the same dark eyes.
The same narrow jaw.
The same habit of standing with one shoulder slightly lower than the other.
She stopped just inside the garage.
Nora was sitting on a stool near the workbench.
"Mom."
Rebecca looked at her daughter.
Then at Elias.
"You must be him."
Elias nodded.
"Elias Carter."
Rebecca crossed her arms.
"My father talked about you."
"So did mine."
She didn't smile.
"I don't know why I'm here."
"You don't have to stay."
That seemed to surprise her.
She looked toward the motorcycle.
"Is that it?"
"Yes."
She approached slowly.
Her fingers touched the fuel tank.
"He told me about this."
Elias stood beside her.
"We built it together."
"He said you were better with engines."
"I was."
She gave him a look.
"Still arrogant."
"He was worse."
For the first time, Rebecca almost smiled.
Then her expression hardened again.
"My father said you were his favorite person."
Elias looked down.
"I didn't know."
"He said you were the one person who could always make him laugh."
Elias swallowed.
"He was my little brother."
Rebecca turned toward him.
"Why didn't you find him?"
"I tried."
"Hard enough?"
The question hit him.
Elias didn't defend himself.
"Maybe not."
Rebecca nodded.
"I appreciate that answer."
They stood in silence.
Then Elias brought out the letters.
Rebecca stared.
"Those are his?"
"Yes."
"I don't want them."
"You don't have to take them."
"Then why show me?"
"Because they belong to you."
Rebecca shook her head.
"He had twenty-four years to say what he wanted to say."
"You're right."
"He doesn't get to make me feel guilty for what he did."
"He doesn't."
"He doesn't get to become a tragic hero because he died."
"He doesn't."
Rebecca's eyes filled.
"Then why does everyone keep telling me he loved me?"
Elias looked directly at her.
"Because he did."
She looked away.
"But he loved you badly."
Rebecca closed her eyes.
"Yes."
"He loved you from a distance when you needed him close."
A tear rolled down her cheek.
"Yes."
"Both things can be true."
Rebecca wiped her face.
"I hate that."
"So do I."
Nora quietly left the room.
Elias and Rebecca stood beside the old motorcycle.
After several minutes, Rebecca picked up the first letter.
She read it.
Then another.
Then another.
By the fifth, she was crying openly.
Elias said nothing.
He knew there were moments when words only made pain heavier.
Eventually, Rebecca asked:
"Did he ever talk about me?"
"All the time."
"Did he ever say he was proud of me?"
"Yes."
"Did he mean it?"
"Absolutely."
She looked at him.
"How do you know?"
"Because I knew your father."
Rebecca laughed bitterly.
"You knew him twenty-four years ago."
"I knew him my entire life."
She sat down.
"Tell me about him."
Elias hesitated.
"What do you want to know?"
"Everything."
So he told her.
About the motorcycle.
About their father.
About the time Michael stole a tractor and drove it through a field at midnight.
About the summer they slept beside a river because they were too stubborn to admit they had gotten lost.
About Michael's terrible singing.
His ridiculous jokes.
His fear of hospitals.
His habit of giving away money he couldn't afford to lose.
His obsession with old blues records.
His tendency to leave every cupboard door open.
Rebecca laughed through tears.
"That sounds like him."
"It is."
For the first time, Rebecca wasn't hearing stories about a stranger.
She was hearing stories about her father.
Not the absent father.
Not the villain.
Not the regret.
Just Michael.
A complicated man.
A foolish man.
A loving man.
A damaged man.
A human being.
What Was Hidden Beneath the Floor
The next morning, Elias received a phone call.
It was from a lawyer.
Michael had left instructions that if Elias ever contacted Rebecca, a second package should be delivered.
The package arrived that afternoon.
Inside was a key.
Not a motorcycle key.
An old brass key with a red tag.
Warehouse 14.
Elias stared at it.
Nora looked over his shoulder.
"What's Warehouse 14?"
"I have no idea."
Rebecca, standing behind them, said:
"My father owned a storage unit."
"Where?"
"Near the old railway station."
They drove there together.
The building was nearly abandoned.
The manager led them to a narrow hallway.
Unit fourteen sat at the very end.
Elias inserted the key.
The lock opened.
Inside was a collection of objects that looked almost meaningless.
A workbench.
Several boxes.
A broken radio.
Old motorcycle parts.
A stack of photographs.
A child's bicycle.
A wooden rocking horse.