I wanted to believe him.
That evening, after the excitement had settled, Drew asked me whether I’d liked his new vest.
“It’s beautiful.”
“I’m officially a biker now.”
“You certainly look like one.”
He ran his fingers over the embroidered letters.
Publicidad
Then, unexpectedly, he asked, “Do you remember when Dad said he’d take me riding?”
I sat down.
His father had owned an old motorcycle years earlier.
Drew was six when he promised that someday, when Drew was bigger, they’d take a long trip together.
I’d almost forgotten.
“Yes,” I said.
“I used to think if I learned enough about motorcycles, he’d come back and take me.”
I couldn’t speak.
“He always talked about riding with his buddies. I thought maybe if I became one of them, he’d want to hang out with me.”
Publicidad
“Drew…”
“It’s okay, Mom.”
“No, sweetheart. It isn’t.”
He looked at me.
“I know you don’t like talking about him.”
