Loretta appeared in the kitchen doorway.
She took one look at the stranger. The leather, the tattoos, the way he carried himself, and her shoulders went tight. "Elijah—"
"It's all right, Mama Lo." The old man stood up slow, removed his rain-soaked hat, and held it in both hands like he was at church. "Ma'am, my name is Hank. I am terribly sorry to intrude. I would not have asked unless I had to."
Loretta's shoulders dropped half an inch. Manners cost a man nothing, but they tell you everything.
"Come in out of that rain, Mr. Hank." Hank explained while Elijah crouched by the engine. He'd been riding solo three days out of Florida. The Panhead started running hot near Macon and misfiring south of Albany.
The chain auto care center had been his first stop. A kid behind the counter laughed at the bike. "We don't service vintage, old man. Try the next county." So, Hank pushed his bike a full mile in the pouring rain to get to Sanders and Son.
"And, son, I need to be in Eagle Ridge, North Carolina by tomorrow at sunrise, 200 miles north, or I break a promise I made on a man's grave."
Elijah looked up. "What kind of promise?" The old biker went quiet. Stared at his boots.
When he spoke, his voice was lower. "It's the one-year anniversary. My brother Eddie passed last June. We made a pact decades back. Whoever went first, the other one rides to Eagle Ridge every dawn on the anniversary.
Two minutes of silence. Then back on the road."
He swallowed. "Nineteen years I've never missed. I do not intend to start tomorrow." The rain hammered the tin roof.
Thunder cracked hard enough to shake the bay doors. Elijah looked at the bike, then at his grandmother, then at Hank. He slid under the Panhead with a work light and started checking. Two minutes later, he came back out. His face was tight.
"Sir, I'm going to shoot straight. The head gasket is blown. The ignition coil is dead. There's a hairline crack in your cylinder sleeve. And your carburetor is gummed up so badly I can smell it from here."
Hank's face fell. "Can you fix it? "The parts you need don't exist in this county. Not for a 1965 Panhead. Every shop within 80 miles is closed by 5:00 p.m.
The roads are about to shut. Even if I ordered them, they'd take three days. The old man's eyes went somewhere far away. His mouth worked, but no sound came out.
He reached slowly into his leather cut, pulled out a crumpled roll of bills, held it out with a shaking hand. "Son, I ain't asking for charity. I will pay whatever it's worth, whatever I have, whichever is less. I am begging you, please." Elijah stared at the cash, then at the old man.
Hank's eyes were wet, the kind of wet a man tries to hide. "Please, son, don't let me fail him. Not tomorrow, not on that ridge."