The engine caught.
This time it did not give them three uncertain seconds. It settled into a deep, uneven rhythm that strengthened as the old V-twin warmed, its familiar mechanical pulse filling the room like a voice returning after a very long silence. The sound rolled through the floor beneath Brian's shoes and into his bones. He had heard recordings of the motorcycle on his grandfather's old tapes, but none had captured the presence of it, the way the machine seemed to occupy the air around everyone who stood near it.
Butcher watched the instruments and the condition of the engine, keeping the test controlled and brief. A little adjustment remained necessary, and nobody would be riding the motorcycle until it had passed a complete roadworthiness inspection. Yet the unmistakable fact remained: the old Harley ran. It had not been magic, and it had not been the work of one person; it was the result of patient knowledge, careful repairs, and people refusing to abandon something merely because it was difficult.
Someone began cheering. Diesel slapped Crow on the shoulder, and a few men near the door raised their fists as though a championship game had ended in their favor. Rex laughed, a startled sound that made him look younger, then stopped when he saw Brian standing perfectly still. The boy's eyes were wide, and tears had begun to slide down his cheeks without any attempt to hide them.
"It sounds like him," Brian whispered.
Rex leaned closer, uncertain he had heard. "What?"
"Grandpa. It sounds like the stories he told me. When he talked about riding, he used to make that exact noise with his mouth." Brian laughed through his tears. "I'd tell him he sounded ridiculous, and he'd say I just hadn't heard a good engine yet."
The motorcycle idled for a few more moments before Butcher shut it down. The sudden quiet left a ringing emptiness that made every breath seem audible. Nobody spoke right away. The men who had cheered now stood with their heads slightly bowed, each imagining James in a different season of his life.
Rex placed a hand on Brian's shoulder. "We did it," he said.
Brian shook his head. "You did most of the work."
"We all did part of it. That's what makes it ours."
Butcher climbed off the bike and walked toward the boy. "Your granddad wasn't wrong about you. You're a good observer, and you've got the patience to learn. But you also learned something important this week: you don't have to know every answer, and you don't have to carry the whole job. Remember that before you get older and turn into an idiot like the rest of us."
Brian laughed, covering his face with one sleeve. Diesel produced the nearest clean rag and handed it over with the solemnity of somebody presenting a national award. Crow asked whether the boy wanted the engine's first successful test recorded in the shop log under his grandfather's name, and Brian said yes. Butcher added the names of everyone who had contributed and left space for future work.