i.
It was Detective Hanson who noticed the decidedly old-fashioned satchel tucked under Henry's desk. "Going somewhere for the weekend, Doc?"
Henry didn't look up from the stack of papers he was signing. "Abe has plans, I thought it would be better if I didn't intrude."
"If you need a place to stay, you could crash at our place," said Hanson. "The boys might even behave, with company."
ii.
Henry hadn't meant to accept, hadn't meant to cave to the desire to meet the family that meant so much to the detective, hadn't meant to admit, even to himself, that company was infinitely preferable to a silent hotel room.
Mrs. Hanson let Henry call her "Mrs. Hanson" exactly once before fixing him with a look. "It's Karen. Now, do you prefer Henry or Doc?"
"Please, call me Henry."
The conversation didn't get any further before Henry was mobbed by "the boys" who spouted questions like a fountain spouted water-continuously. The older wanted to play ball, the younger wanted Henry to color with him. What was Henry's favorite food? Had he ever swallowed a tooth? What was the grossest thing he'd ever seen? Had he ever gone flying? Skateboarding? Could he play tag? Did he have any pets? How many dead people did he cut up a day? Was he afraid of zombies?
Over the course of the evening, Henry found himself thinking of his coworker as Mike-the pretense of professional reserve set aside for the easier roles of guest and host-as they allowed themselves to be swept up in the children's plans for entertainment.
Two pajama clad extortionists had Henry read them a mountain of picture books before they would go to sleep.
"You didn't have to do that," said Karen, when Henry retreated to the kitchen for a glass of water. "The rule is one book apiece."
"Ah," said Henry. He'd suspected as much, but he'd been delighted to revisit the memories of tucking a small child into bed and reading and rereading favorite stories. The books were different now, and if he'd been the one fascinated by the introduction to astronomy, well, that was the one that lulled both boys to sleep. "Well. I didn't mind, as I am unfamiliar with most of the tales they presented me. I believe it to be a more onerous task when the adult has each page memorized."
"I vote you visit every weekend," said Mike.
iii.
Henry hadn't even put up a token protest when invited along to the car show. Hands in pockets, he strolled down the lines of parked vehicles. Each had been polished to a high shine, showing its best self, and he wasn't the only one enthused by the variety of models on display. When he waxed encyclopedic over the early steam-powered model, he found he had two enthralled listeners, and the boys wanted to know everything about the WWII models driven by the medical corps in Italy.
But it was the late model 1950s family sedan that brought back the most memories.
The older gentleman seated next to the gleaming vehicle smiled at Henry. "You knew someone with one of these?"
Henry nodded.
"You ever drive it?"
"I...am not sure I should admit that the answer is yes."
They chuckled together, watching the boys inspect their reflections in the chrome. "There's a parade this afternoon, where we take them around and listen to them purr," said the owner. "Could I interest you and your boys in helping me show this one off?"
"We can be in a parade?"
Henry wasn't surprised the offer had caught the children's attention, nor that they were eager for him to accept. "We have to make sure it's all right with your parents-"
iv.
Time marched on, but sometimes you could find a memory or two that had been lost under the seats.
Henry and Abigail had owned a very similar car, and driven it for years, before Henry talked her into letting them get something newer and faster. They'd racked up mile after mile on family road trips, staying at small hotels, packing lunches and eating in parks. He'd marvelled at the availability of petrol after the war-the sheer size of the country-the variety of landscapes-the games Abe learned from his schoolmates-the wonder of driving at night on good roads.
It felt right to slide into the driver's seat again, to reach for the gear shift, to warn the children in the back to behave. Mike and Karen waved back from the crowd as the boys hung out the windows and waved until their arms were in danger of falling off.
v.
Backyard barbeque was to finish the day. Mike had the place of honor in front of the grill, and Henry was observing.
"I didn't know you could drive, Doc."
"I don't have a license. There's a difference, Detective." He'd let it lapse in the 80s, and Abe had fallen into the habit of doing all the driving. A taste for fast cars was hard to indulge in the city.
Mike's look was equal parts intrigued and wary. "Yeah, I bet you're a real menace on the roads."
Henry shrugged. It did depend on the circumstances. "Only in a Bugatti."
