“To see my mother.”
“Those weren’t exactly scenic rides.”
I stared at him.
“Why would Mom spend every Saturday with your mother? Do I know her?”
Connor took a breath.
“Her name is Diane.”
The name meant nothing to me.
Then he added, “She also knew your Uncle Mike.”
“Why would Mom spend every Saturday with your mother?”
That name did.
And suddenly, the room felt too small.
Six months earlier, I hadn’t even known Connor existed.
After my father, Richard, died, I started visiting Mom every weekend.
Dad had always been the louder one. He sang while washing dishes and talked to strangers everywhere he went.
Mom was quieter. She gardened, did crosswords, and remembered everybody’s birthday.
I hadn’t even known Connor existed.
After Dad died, the house seemed to lose its sound, so I filled my weekends with groceries and chores.
One Saturday, I walked into the living room and found her kneeling beside the baseboard with a dust cloth.
“Mom, give me that.”
She looked up.
“Mia, I’m grieving, not helpless.”
“I’m helping.”
“Mom, give me that.”
“You’ve been helping since eight this morning.”
Before I could answer, a roar shook the windows.
I rushed to the front.
A huge motorcycle sat in Mom’s driveway beside a massive man in boots and a leather jacket.
I turned.
“Mom, do you know there’s a biker in your yard?”
“You’ve been helping since eight this morning.”
To my surprise, she smiled.
“That’s Connor.”
“Who is Connor?”
She was already reaching for her jacket.
“My ride.”
I laughed.
She didn’t.
“My ride.”
“You’re getting on that motorcycle with a man I’ve never met?”
“Mia, you’re 47. I think we’ve passed the point where you approve my friends.”
I followed her outside.
Connor removed his helmet.
“Afternoon, Frances.”
“Hello, Connor.”
“You’re getting on that motorcycle with a man I’ve never met?”
His voice was deep, but his manner was gentle.
Mom pointed at me.
“This is my daughter, Mia.”
Connor nodded. “Nice to meet you.”
I looked from him to the motorcycle.
“Where are you taking her?”
“This is my daughter, Mia.”
“For a drive.”
Mom took the helmet from him.
“It’s also none of your planning, Mia,” Mom said. “But I’m perfectly fine.”
I lowered my voice.
“Mom, you barely know him.”
She touched my arm.
“I’m perfectly fine.”
“Mia, I know you’re scared.”
That shut me up.
Dad had been gone less than a year.
I didn’t want another phone call changing my life.
“Then please don’t go.”
Her face softened.
Dad had been gone less than a year.
