They reached the gathering shortly after sunrise. Rusty was already there with Denise, Dave, Tommy, and Pete, all of them dressed in clean shirts that made them look slightly embarrassed to be seen together without grease on their hands. Dave had brought his daughter, who was nearly Leo's age and wanted to know whether the famous boy mechanic could really tell what was wrong with an engine just by listening. Leo blushed and explained that he could tell some things, but not all things, and that the adults had done most of the actual repair.
"That's what Dad says when I help him fix the sink," the girl replied. "I tell him where the water comes out, and he says I found the problem."
"Sometimes finding the problem is the hard part," Pete said.
Tommy glanced at him. "You'd know. You spent a week blaming a battery that wasn't the whole problem."
Pete rolled his eyes, and the exchange made Leo laugh. He was beginning to see how friendship could survive arguments when people were willing to admit mistakes. The mechanics still disagreed over details, but they no longer treated every difference of opinion as a threat to their competence. It was the kind of change he had hoped for without knowing how to ask for it.
Near the center of the gathering, Dutch's black FXR stood beside a small table covered with photographs. The machine had passed its final roadworthiness checks after Friday's demonstration, and Jim had ridden it briefly on a controlled route with Rusty's team observing before deciding it was ready for Saturday's opening stretch. It looked the same as it always had, complete with the scars in its tank and the worn leather saddle. Somehow that seemed more fitting than a perfect restoration that erased every sign of Dutch's life.
Jim approached Nora and Leo wearing a clean shirt beneath his vest and carrying two paper cups of hot chocolate. He handed one to Leo and the other to Nora, taking care not to spill either. "Dutch's sister is here," he said. "Would you like to meet her before things get crowded?"
Nora nodded. "We'd be glad to."
June Sullivan was a slender woman with silver hair and the steady gaze of someone who had spent a lifetime reminding a younger brother to behave himself. She stood beside the memorial photographs, talking with a couple who had traveled from Sacramento for the ride. When Jim introduced Leo as Arthur Hayes's son, her expression changed immediately. She reached into her bag and brought out a small photograph of Arthur and Dutch sitting on a motel curb with paper cups in their hands.
"I remember your father," she said. "He was one of the few people who could tell my brother he was wrong without having to shout. Dutch respected him for that, though he'd never have admitted it in public." She handed Leo the photograph. "Your dad was quiet, but whenever he talked about you, you could hear how proud he was."
Leo looked at the image. Arthur was smiling at something beyond the camera, and Dutch appeared to be telling a story with both hands. "Did my dad ever get mad at him?" the boy asked.
June laughed softly. "Every time Dutch decided that a new idea was more important than the laws of machinery. But they always found a way to work together. I think that's why my brother trusted him."