One evening, Ray didn't come to the diner.
Maya noticed immediately.
The next Tuesday, he didn't come either.
Neither did he the week after.
She finally asked Mrs. Dalton.
"Have you heard from Ray?"
Mrs. Dalton shook her head.
"No."
"That's weird."
"He always comes here."
"Maybe his bike broke down."
Mrs. Dalton smiled.
"That man can rebuild an engine with a butter knife."
Maya laughed.
But something bothered her.
So she called the number Ray had once written on a napkin.
No answer.
She tried again.
Nothing.
Then, on Thursday morning, a police officer walked into the diner.
Maya's stomach dropped.
The officer looked around.
"Are you Maya Carter?"
"Yes."
"Do you know Raymond Hale?"
"Yes."
The officer nodded.
"He's been hospitalized."
Maya froze.
"What happened?"
"Motorcycle accident."
Ray survived.
Barely.
The motorcycle was destroyed.
He had several broken ribs and a fractured shoulder.
When Maya visited him, he looked smaller than she remembered.
The hospital bed made him seem human in a way the leather jacket never had.
Maya stood beside him.
"You scared me."
Ray opened one eye.
"Didn't mean to."
"You could've called."
"I was busy."
She laughed despite herself.
"You're impossible."
Ray smiled.
Then his expression became serious.
"You still have it?"
Maya knew exactly what he meant.
She pulled the bandana from her bag.
Ray stared at it.
"Good."
"You want it back?"
He shook his head.
"No."
"Why?"
He took a breath.
"Because I've been carrying it for twenty years."
He looked toward the window.
"And maybe it's time somebody else carried it."
Maya sat down.
"Why me?"
Ray didn't answer immediately.
Finally, he said:
"Because you fell."
Maya frowned.
"What?"
"You fell."
He looked at her.
"And everybody laughed."
Maya remembered.
"You were the only person who helped."
Ray nodded.
"Lily fell once."
Maya waited.
"She was ten."
Ray smiled.
"She was running through the backyard. Tripped over a garden hose. Scraped both knees."
He laughed quietly.
"She screamed like she'd been shot."