89. The Bike
There are a couple of sheds on the property around the Crag’s Inn. One is full of tools and equipment and junk that I spent a couple of Saturdays sorting through and disposing of and organizing. I always assumed that the other shed was something similar.
I discover that I’m wrong.
This shed is more a garage of sorts. Inside is a car, which makes sense since I never see any cars up here and I assume Iris has to get around somehow.
You thought she could fly, right? Like witches do.
The thing I notice right away, however, is a silver-and-black motorcycle that looks old but doesn’t look like junk.
“Have you ever ridden a motorcycle?” Iris asks me under the hazy orange light in the shed.
“A few times. Mom’s never been a big fan.”
“This one belonged to your uncle.”
First we’re talking about light and the Bible and the book of Daniel, and now she’s talking about Uncle Robert. Both seem like crazy made-up stories to me.
“You serious?”
“Yes.”
“How’d you get it?”
She folds her hands and gives me a nice, polite smile the way a politician or First Lady might. “He used to work for me some time ago.”
“What?”
“In many ways, you remind me of him.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, Chris.”
“Does my mother know about this?”
“No.”
“So then how—do you know where he is?”
She shakes her head.
“What happened?” I ask. “How long ago did he work for you?”
“A few years ago. The bike was something that he found and brought up here to work on. An actor that he liked once owned a bike like this. I forget the actor, but the bike is called a Triumph. He never managed to get it fixed. I got someone to finish it in case he ever came back. But he didn’t.”
“He quit?”
“Yes. I wasn’t as … patient, I guess I should say, with Robert.”
“With what?”
“With trying to teach him. With trying to let him know who he was.”
She makes it sound like Uncle Robert was some Jedi warrior or something.
I know my Star Wars, and this is not Star Wars.
“I tried too hard with him. That’s why—this time, I decided to back off. As opportunity permits, I’ve been able to talk with you.”
“I don’t understand. He just didn’t like all the stuff you talked about?”
“Uncle Robert was confused, Chris. Probably much like you are.”
“Maybe it has something to do with the place he was living in.”
“It has everything to do with the place. But it also has everything to do with him. And that was the part he refused to accept.”
“What about him?”
Iris ignores my question and goes over to the bike. “Do you want to learn how to ride this?”
“Now?” I’m picturing her getting on this and think my mind is a few seconds away from being blown.
“No. Not now. But soon. They’re a little tricky to start. And of course you’ll have to be careful going down the hill.”
“But—”
“It’s yours.”
“For what?”
“For listening. And for showing up when your uncle never did.”
“What do you think happened to him?”
“I wish I knew,” Iris says. “I still pray for him every day and night. I pray that he is still alive and that there’s still time. But I don’t know. I really don’t know.”