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Eventually, Dr. Harris told him.
“And then your boy asked me whether we could get Harris back into the club,” Wade said.
“How did Drew even contact you?”
“Harris introduced us on a phone call while we were planning the visit. When he stepped out for a minute, Drew asked me to keep one extra surprise.”
I looked at the folded vest.
All this time, I’d believed Dr. Harris was the one giving my son something extraordinary.
I hadn’t realized Drew was trying to return the favor.
“He told me the doctor made him feel like he still had something to look forward to,” Wade continued. “Said he wanted Harris to feel that way again.”
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I had to turn away.
My son, who knew he was dying, was worrying about a grown man who’d forgotten how to enjoy his life.
Outside, the motorcycles were parked in two neat rows near a quiet hospital entrance.
