cold Saturday morning in March, Sarah and Emily met Michael at the same Route 78 stop.
This time, there was no rain.
Emily wore the same yellow coat, though the sleeves were getting short.
Michael arrived with his cane and blue scarf.
Marcus and another security guard waited farther down the sidewalk, close enough to act and far enough to disappear into the background.
Emily grinned when she saw him.
“Mr.
Michael!”
“Miss Emily.”
She pointed at his cane.
“Still shaky?”
“Still bossy?”
“Yes.”
Sarah covered a smile.
The bus arrived.
They climbed on together.
There were plenty of seats at first.
Michael chose one by the aisle.
Emily sat beside him, kicking her sneakers lightly above the floor.
At the third stop, an older woman boarded carrying two heavy grocery bags.
Every seat filled at once.
Before Sarah could move, Michael planted his cane carefully, pushed himself upright, and nodded toward his seat.
“Ma’am,” he said, “you can sit here.”
The woman thanked him and sat.
Emily’s eyes widened.
Michael looked down at her.
“What?”
She smiled so brightly that even Marcus, three rows back, looked away to hide his grin.
“You remembered.”
Michael looked toward the rain-clean city passing beyond the glass.
For years, he had thought honoring Helen meant repeating the route where they met.
Now he understood it differently.
The point had never been the bus.
The point was noticing who was standing.
Michael tightened one hand around the pole as Route 78 rolled forward.
Beside him, Emily counted stops on her fingers.
And this time, neither of them was riding alone.
