Nolan considered him. "I don't know how to have a father," he answered. "So we'd both be starting from something we don't know. I think people do that every day. You fix a machine you've never seen before by paying attention and not pretending you already have all the answers."
For the first time, Elias smiled without immediately looking away. "That's something I used to say," he said. "I know," Nolan replied. "I worked it out myself, but apparently it runs in the family."
Elias reached across the narrow space between the chairs and rested a hand on Nolan's shoulder. Nolan had wondered all week what it would feel like to have that hand there again. It was warmer than he expected, heavier, and very ordinary. The ordinariness nearly undid him.
They left Marrow's Gap the following morning. Elias arranged for a local mechanic to handle urgent jobs and posted a notice on the office door. He locked the garage, checked the lock twice out of habit, and climbed into Nolan's truck carrying a small duffel bag.
They did not speak much for the first hour. The heater rattled, the radio played softly, and the road carried them west through fields gradually brightening with morning sun. At a service station Elias bought two sandwiches and paid before Nolan could object. Nolan protested anyway, because an ordinary disagreement seemed like a useful first step toward ordinary family life.
Reyes called while they were halfway home. Nolan put the phone on speaker. The old man reported that investigators had accepted the initial referral, that Ruth was safe with her sister, and that Sandra Reeves's first article was scheduled after final verification. Then he paused. "Elias," he said.
The older man leaned toward the phone. "I'm here, old man." There was a silence large enough to contain years. Reyes finally answered, "Good," and ended the call. Elias looked at the phone for a long moment and then turned toward the window.
The Blackbird Diner appeared at dusk, its neon bird throwing orange light over the wet lot. Nolan had meant to drive straight to the clubhouse, but his hands turned the wheel toward the diner before he had fully decided. Motorcycles stood in the familiar rows. Through the steamed windows he could see men gathered at the long table, talking over coffee and late dinner. Elias watched the sign and swallowed.
"You don't have to go inside yet," Nolan said. Elias shook his head. "I do. I've spent twenty-two years not doing the thing I needed to do. I don't want to start another year that way."
They crossed the gravel lot together. Nolan opened the door, and the bell sounded exactly as it had the first night. Conversation continued for a moment, then faded as the nearest riders saw the man behind him.