Nora laughed through an unexpected sting in her eyes. "Mostly sounds about right."
They found two more pages referring to the FXR, one describing a hidden electrical modification and another listing custom components Arthur had cut and finished himself. Leo recognized the handwriting immediately, but the technical notes were too complicated for him to interpret on his own. Nora slipped the papers into a clear plastic folder, not willing to let oil or rain destroy the last evidence of Arthur's careful work. She also put the photograph of Arthur and Leo inside, thinking that Jim might like to see the man he remembered with the boy who remembered him.
That night, they ate steak bought with Jim's money at a modest diner around the corner. Nora insisted on ordering a second plate of vegetables, and Leo spent several minutes studying the menu because he was not used to choosing anything that cost more than the least expensive item. They took part of the meal home in a paper container for Nora's next work break. Leo declared it the best dinner he had eaten in his entire life, then added that his father's pancakes were still better than any restaurant's.
Nora smiled, because Arthur's pancakes had been uneven, frequently burned, and served with whatever fruit happened to be inexpensive that week. "Your father would be very proud to hear that," she said. "And he'd probably tell the cook how to fix the stove."
Back at the apartment, Leo placed the folder beside his schoolbooks and lay awake staring at the ceiling. Outside, a bus sighed at the stop below their window, and somebody in the laundromat rolled a metal cart across the floor. He wondered whether Jim Mercer would still speak kindly if the motorcycle failed on Friday. He wondered whether Rusty would lose his shop, and whether it was possible to disappoint his father's memory by remembering something incorrectly.
Nora came into his room when she heard him turning over. She sat on the edge of the mattress and waited until he spoke. "What if I can't do it?" he asked. "What if Dad's notes aren't enough?"
"Then the adults will keep doing their jobs," she said. "And you'll still be a boy who tried to help. Nothing about you changes because an old motorcycle starts or doesn't start."
"Mr. Jim looked like he needed it to start."
"He probably does. But needing something badly doesn't make it your responsibility to produce it. Your father would want you to learn that as much as he'd want you to learn about engines."
Leo thought about that for a while. "Do you think Mr. Jim loved Mr. Dutch?"
"I think he loved him very much," Nora answered. "Some men find it easier to talk about an engine than about the person who used to ride it."
Leo closed his eyes. He understood that kind of love better than most adults realized. Sometimes he took apart an old clock that had belonged to Arthur, not because the clock needed fixing, but because touching its little screws and gears made the distance between them seem smaller. When he finally slept, he dreamed of the garage before the sickness, with bright light on the windows and his father humming an off-key song beside a motorcycle that had no trouble starting.