“Do you still read?” I ask him.
He turns his attention to me before responding, “Yeah. I don’t watch a lot of TV and read books instead. But I don’t own a lot of books. I like to support my local library. I tend to go on the weekends and pick up a few that I’ll read over the next week.”
“A few?”
“I can usually finish two or three books a week.” My mouth drops a little in surprise. “I like to wind down after work by reading. It’s a great way to stay creative but in a way that doesn’t feel like I’m still working.”
I tilt my head to the side to contemplate Sam’s reading habits. I haven’t read for pleasure nearly as much as I used to. Now my days are full of reading legal documents, but I still read a handful of books each year. “I don’t really read for pleasure as much anymore.”
“That’s surprising! You used to always have a book with you.”
I shrug in response and look back at the books.
“Are you ready to go?” He holds his hand out, gesturing towards the door.
“Yes.” He grabs my hand, and we walk out of the house. His hand is warm and comforting.
Sam suddenly stops, and I barrel into him. “Why is my dad here?”
Peeking around him, I notice my parents are chatting with Dan on the sidewalk in front of the gate that leads to the driveway and backyard.
How did Mom get here so fast?
Before I can respond, Dan shouts out, “Hey, kids, come to the back with us.” Sam looks at me over his shoulder, giving me a “I don’t know what’s going on” look before he leads us to the backyard with our parents.
An intricate wrought iron gate sits at the sidewalk and leads to a long driveway spanning the length of the house and ending at the two-car garage on one side and the backyard on the other.
As we walk down the long drive, I spot Ethan’s motorcycle parked halfway down the driveway, a helmet hanging off one of the handles.
Sam and I stop walking when we are standing right in front of the motorcycle—the twin to the one Sam was driving when he was in his accident.
Mom looks down at mine and Sam’s interlocked hands and smiles as she looks up at me.
“What’s going on?” Sam’s quiet voice breaks my thoughts.
“We want you to have Ethan’s bike.” Dad gestures between himself and my mom.
Sam drops my hand and starts shaking his head. “N... No. Ican’t take this.” He gestures at the bike before rubbing the back of his neck with one hand while he shoves the other into his pocket.
“Sam, honey. Ethan would want you to have it.” Mom’s voice is strangled. She clears her throat and then continues, “We,” she gestures at herself, Dad, and Dan, “want you to have it.”
Sam steps forward, tentative, as he glides his palm along the seat. “Are you sure?” His voice is timid as he looks at my parents, tears in his beautiful brown eyes. I want to go to him. I want to comfort him. But my feet won’t move.
“Yes. Absolutely.” Dad uses the voice he uses when something is decided. Leaving no room for argument.
“I don’t know what to say.” Sam’s voice is rough and wobbly, and it’s all it takes to bring me to action. “Thank you.” I move toward him and wrap my arm around his, my hand stroking his bicep. He looks down at me, giving me a weak smile. Tears form in Sam’s eyes.
He hugs my parents, and Mom tells him she loves him. Dan hands Sam the keys, gives him a quick hug, and then follows my parents into the house.
I stand in silence, watching as Sam walks around the motorcycle. His expression flits between awe, devastation, and concern.
I watch as he gently sets the helmet onto the ground, straddles the seat, and places his hands on the handlebars. He looks up at me, devastation etching his features. “I haven’t been on a bike since my accident.” His voice is so small. Stepping forward, I run my hand along his back.
“You don’t have to take it if you don’t want it. But they are right.” He looks at me like I’m his lifeline. “Ethan would want you to have it.”
“It doesn’t feel right that the last time I was on a bike was when I almost died. And now…” His voice wavers. “Now, your parents are giving me Ethan’s bike, and—” he chokes on the words. “And hediddie in an accident. I… I don’t know how to…” He cuts off abruptly and looks back down at the motorcycle, one hand drifting down to rest on the tank.
I’m not sure what to say, so I keep rubbing his back in soothing circles.
