He touched the tiny stitched design.
"She embroidered that."
"She did it herself?"
"Badly."
Maya smiled.
Ray did too.
"She couldn't sew."
He shook his head.
"She tried to make a flower. It looked more like a dead spider."
Maya laughed softly.
Ray's eyes became wet.
"But she was proud of it."
He rubbed his thumb over the stitching.
"She wore this thing everywhere."
"How old was she?"
"Seventeen."
Maya didn't know what to say.
Ray looked toward the window.
"She thought she was invincible."
"Most seventeen-year-olds do."
"Yeah."
He smiled sadly.
"She'd steal my motorcycle jacket. She'd sneak out. She'd come home at two in the morning and act like she'd been gone for five minutes."
Maya listened.
"Sounds like she was trouble."
Ray chuckled.
"She was."
Then his smile faded.
"But she was my trouble."
Ray didn't talk about Lily often.
Not because he didn't remember.
Because he remembered everything.
The sound of her bedroom door slamming.
The way she sang terribly in the shower.
The chocolate wrappers she hid under her mattress.
The way she would sit on the garage floor while he worked on motorcycles.
She had loved motorcycles.
Not because they were loud.
Not because they were dangerous.
She loved them because they represented freedom.
"You know what she used to tell me?" Ray asked.
Maya shook her head.
"She said someday she'd ride across the country."
"Did she?"
Ray looked down.
"No."
Silence filled the booth.
"She died before she got the chance."
Maya reached across the table.
She didn't touch him.
She simply rested her hand near his.
Ray looked at it.
Then at her.
"People think grief gets smaller."
He paused.
"It doesn't."
Maya listened.
"You just get bigger around it."
That sentence stayed with her.
Long after Ray left.
Long after she locked the diner.
Long after she drove home.
The next Tuesday, Ray came back.
Maya was surprised.
He walked through the door at exactly 2:15.
Same black vest.
Same boots.
Same serious expression.
He sat in his usual booth.
Maya walked over.
"Coffee?"
"Please."
"Seven cups?"
"Let's start with one."
She smiled.
Then she noticed something.
He was staring at her knee.
The bandana was gone.
Maya reached into her apron.
"I washed it."