She drove a silver minivan and packed snacks for every school event.
Her idea of breaking the rules was ordering dessert before dinner.
But this biker grieved her like he had lost someone irreplaceable.
Sometimes, from my car, I saw his shoulders shake.
Sometimes, before he left, he placed one rough hand against her headstone and kept it there for several seconds.
Like he was saying goodbye all over again.
By the third month, I could not take it anymore.
That Saturday, I stepped out of my car and walked toward him.
He heard my footsteps but did not turn around.
