"Do you have a motorcycle?"
"Several."
"Do they go really fast?"
"Fast enough."
"Have you ever crashed?"
"Once."
"Did you cry?"
Gunter stared at her.
Claire covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.
Finally Gunter said, "No."
Lily leaned closer.
"My mom cries when she's scared."
Gunter's expression softened.
"Your mom's allowed."
The little girl nodded as though he had just delivered an important piece of wisdom.
Before they left, Lily pointed toward a photograph hanging above the workbench.
It showed a small yellow motorcycle.
"What's that?"
Gunter turned.
"That's a 1972 Harley-Davidson."
"Is it yours?"
"Was."
"What happened?"
"Life."
Lily frowned.
"That's not an answer."
For the first time that day, Gunter laughed.
"No. It isn't."
Claire thanked him and drove away.
Gunter watched the car disappear down the road.
He thought about Lily's questions for the rest of the afternoon.
The yellow Harley in the photograph had belonged to Elaine.
It had been her first motorcycle.
They had met because she had broken down outside a roadside diner. Gunter had repaired her bike, and she had repaid him by buying him coffee.
They married two years later.
After Elaine died, Gunter sold the motorcycle.
He told himself he had needed the money.
That was only partly true.
The truth was that he could not stand looking at it.
For six years, he had regretted selling it.
But Lily's question had opened an old door.
The next morning, Gunter drove to a storage unit two towns away.
Inside was a collection of parts he had accumulated over the years. Among them were the original fuel tank, handlebars, mirrors, and several small components from Elaine's yellow Harley.
He had kept them without knowing why.
He stood in the dusty unit for nearly an hour.
Then he smiled.
"All right, Elaine."
He picked up the tank.
"Let's build something."
He did not know yet what he was building.
He only knew that he wanted to see a little girl smile.
Over the next three weeks, Gunter worked after club meetings and before sunrise.
He searched salvage yards for miniature motorcycle frames.
He ordered a small electric motor.
He found a child-sized seat.
He fabricated brackets from aluminum.
He rebuilt the tiny suspension system himself.
The motorcycle would not be a toy.
It would be a carefully engineered miniature Harley-inspired machine, slow enough for a child, stable enough for a beginner, and beautiful enough to make someone stop and stare.
He painted it the same yellow as Elaine's old bike.
He polished every piece of chrome until it reflected the garage lights.
The first time he switched on the headlamp, Gunter stood silently.
The yellow tank glowed.
For a moment, he could almost hear Elaine laughing.
"You're overdoing it," he imagined her saying.