Page 42 of My Veteran Biker

His hands are steadier than they were this morning, which means he took his medication specifically for this.

"Mr. Lee," Knox says, extending his hand.

Dad shakes it. The tremor is visible but he grips firm and doesn't let go until Knox does.

"It's James. Or Jim. We're past the formal stage, I think."

Inside the house smells like roast chicken and potatoes.

We sit down to eat and for the first ten minutes the conversation is polite. Knox asks about Dad's work before he retired, about the projects he used to manage. Dad asks about the MC, about how long Knox has been with Vigil, about whether he plans to stay in Bloomfield long-term.

Then Dad reaches for his water glass and his hand shakes. The tremor is worse than it was this morning, his fingers barely able to grip. He brings his other hand over to steady it but water sloshes over the rim anyway, splashing onto the table.

Knox reaches over without a word, takes the glass from Dad's hands, and sets it down. He uses his napkin to wipe up the spilled water, the whole action taking maybe five seconds and done without comment, without making it a moment.

Dad looks at Knox for a long time. Then he says, "You staying this time?"

Knox doesn't pretend not to understand. "Yes, sir."

"She needs someone reliable. Someone who's going to be there when things get hard. You understand what I'm saying?"

"I do."

"Because things are going to get hard." Dad's voice is steady but there's something underneath it, something raw. "I'm not getting better. I'm going to get worse and eventually I'm going to need more help than I can ask for. Francis is going to have to make decisions about what that looks like. You being with her means you're part of that. You ready for that?"

The bluntness surprises me. Dad's never been one to dance around difficult topics but I didn't expect him to lay it out this directly, this fast.

Knox doesn't flinch. "I'm ready."

"Good." Dad picks up his fork, hands still shaking. "Because she left you once and I think it about killed you. She leaves you again, it'll definitely kill you. So if you're doing this, you better mean it all the way down."

"Dad," I say.

"Let him answer, Frannie."

Knox looks at me, then back at Dad. "I loved her years ago and let her go because I couldn't be what she needed. I love her now at forty-seven and I'm not making that mistake again. I'm all in. Whatever that means, whatever it costs. I'm in."

Dad nods, satisfied. "Then welcome to the family, son."

The tension breaks. Dad takes a bite of chicken and chews slowly before saying, "Her mother would've liked you."

"Dad," I say quietly.

"It's true. She had good instincts about people. Met her at a church social in 1978. I asked her to dance and she told me I had terrible dance moves but a good smile."

Knox smiles slightly. "Sounds like Francis. Direct."

"Gets it from her mother." Dad cuts another piece of chicken, the knife shaking in his hand. "We had this apartment after we got married, bathroom so small you had to step into the tub to close the door. Your mother used to joke that it was good practice for being married. Learning to share small spaces."

"How long were you married?" Knox asks.

"Twenty-eight years. She had a heart attack in the garden. Dropped right there next to the tomatoes she was planting." Dad's voice doesn't waver but his hands shake harder. "Francis was at work. I called her and she came straight home. Your mother was already gone by then."

I reach over and put my hand on Dad's. He doesn't pull away.

"I'm sorry," Knox says.

"It's been twelve years. You'd think it would get easier." Dad looks at Knox directly. "It doesn't. You just get used to the empty space."