The club surprised me with a purple bike—his idea, they said.
My favorite color.
Now, I ride every Sunday. I visit the lake. I keep his garage just the way he left it.
And I listen to stories from his friends, to the hum of the road, to the silence where his voice used to be.
I wear a patch now that says “Jack’s Daughter.” I used to think I was too good for that title.
Now, I know I never deserved it.
