Page 44 of My Veteran Biker

"And now you've got Francis. That change things?"

Knox glances at me. "Yeah. It does."

"How?"

"Gives me something to come home to that's bigger than just the club. Makes me less reckless. Makes me want to see tomorrow."

Dad sets down his fork and leans back in his chair. "Good answer." He looks at me. "You picked better this time."

"Dad."

"What? I can't say you picked well?" He looks back at Knox. "She was with a man for six years who didn't see her. You see her?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then don't stop seeing her. That's all I'm asking."

"I won't."

We finish dinner after that, the conversation lighter. Dad asks about Knox's work at Ray's shop, about what kind of bikes he works on. Knox asks about Dad's garden, about whether he needs help with the fall planting. Normal conversation between two men who are finding their way toward something like family.

When we're done I start to clear the plates but Dad stops me.

"Leave them. I'll do them later."

"Dad, let me help."

"I said I'll do them later." His voice is firm. "I can still clean up after myself."

Knox and I exchange a look but we don't argue. We walk Dad to the door and stand there in the entryway that smells like lemon cleaner.

"Thank you for dinner," Knox says.

"Come back next week. Both of you."

"We will," I say, and kiss his cheek.

Dad puts his hand on Knox's shoulder, the tremor visible but his grip firm. "Take care of her."

"I will."

We walk back to Knox's house in the warm night air. The cicadas are loud and the streetlights cast long shadows and somewhere down the block a dog is barking. When we're halfway there Knox says quietly, "How much longer does he have?"

"Doctors say two years. Maybe five if he's lucky. But the progression is fast. Six months ago he could button his own shirt."

"What happens when he can't live alone anymore?"

"I don't know. Nursing home, maybe. Or I bring him to live with me. Haven't decided yet."

"Bring him to live with us," Knox says.

I stop walking. "What?"

"My house has three bedrooms. One's mine, one's storage, one's empty. We convert the empty one for him when the time comes. Ground floor, close to the bathroom. He can have his independence but you're there if he needs help."

"Knox, we've been together four days."

"And we'll have been together however many days it is when he needs to move in. Could be six months, could be two years. Point is, when it happens, we're ready."