Eight o’clock wasn’t random.
It was a memory.
“Did your dad ride a motorcycle too?” the nurse asked.
Emily nodded. “A loud one.”
She smiled faintly.
“Mommy said it was too noisy. But Daddy said motorcycles sound like freedom.”
The nurse glanced outside again.
Jack had stepped a little closer to the window. Emily raised her hand again, and he pressed his palm to the glass in return.
“How long has he been coming?” the nurse asked.
“Since Daddy went away.”
“Since he died?”
Emily didn’t use the same words adults did.
“Since Daddy went to the sky,” she said softly.
“And he comes every morning?”
Emily nodded.
“Unless it rains really hard.”
The nurse hesitated.
“Why does he stay outside?”
Emily looked puzzled.
“Because Daddy told him not to scare the nurses.”
The nurse blinked.
“What?”
Emily pointed toward the window.
“Daddy said Uncle Jack looks scary.”
Outside, Jack reached into his vest again and pulled out a photograph. He pressed it against the glass.
Emily leaned forward to see it.
It showed two men on motorcycles, laughing.
Between them stood a small girl wearing a pink helmet that was much too big for her.
“That’s Daddy,” Emily said happily.
The nurse studied the picture, then looked back at the biker.