Chapter 23: Callahan Cycle

Inside the brown paper was a pair of fingerless riding gloves in my size, soft black leather, with a small gold bee stitched on each cuff.

Under them was a note in purple marker.

*Bree. These are for when you are the passenger. Dad says you never have been. It is a design choice. P.S. I am still waiting for my dragon.*

I laughed, and then I cried, standing at the guardrail with my hand over my mouth.

Hank put his arm around me, and my mother looked away politely and said something to the girl about napkins.

Callahan Cycle & Repair opened its doors again the Monday after the ride.

My father's sign was back over the bay, repainted, and the customers were out the door at seven in the morning.

I had written a single word on the new chalkboard by the register: HELMETS.

Under it was a list, and the list was already four weeks long.

The twelve old customers who had stood with me that Tuesday came first, and each of them put a name on it.

The first order was a skull with roses for a woman who ran the feed store.

The second was a pair of red foxes for the man from Mill Road, whose wife had sent him.

Gus signed up for a plain white one with a green stripe.

I did not ask him what the stripe was for.

At ten o'clock Hank's truck pulled up, and a small figure in a puffy coat climbed out and marched through the bay doors.

"It's Monday," his daughter said. "You said Saturday. That was a lie."

"It was three Saturdays ago," I said. "I'm sorry. A lot of things happened."

"I know. Dad told me." She folded her arms. "Is it done?"

"It's done."

I took the helmet down from the top shelf.

It was pink, with a ring of gold stars around the visor and a small green dragon on the left side.