They headed down Highway 210, straight into the heart of the city. She took him past the U.S. Army Airborne & Special Operations Museum so that he could see the unique, modern architecture of the building’s entrance, and then on to the historic downtown area.

“Are you up for a walk?” Taylor asked.

“A walk or a hike? I’ve known you long enough now to know a walk is never just a walk.”

Her lips tipped up in a rueful smile. “A little of both. The Cape Fear River Trail is nearby. It’s beautiful, even at this time of the year. Peaceful. I think you’d enjoy it.”

He captured her free hand and placed a kiss on the back of it. “That sounds perfect.”

Ten minutes later, she pulled the Lincoln into a parking lot surrounded by near-leafless trees. They maintained a comfortable silence as they set out on the trail, strolling along a wooden platform that snaked through the bare forest, walking underneath a covered bridge and past several gurgling streams with short waterfalls. Growing up in one of the flattest parts of Texas, Jamar rarely saw this side of nature.

A couple of joggers ran past them, but for the most part, they were alone. Taylor had been right. It was peaceful. It was exactly what he needed today.

After about twenty minutes, she finally spoke.

“Do you feel like talking about it?” she asked.

“I’m not sure there’s anything to talk about.” He shrugged. “Eight years ago today, the driver of a pickup truck hit my best friend head-on as he rode his motorcycle. A simple story with a tragic ending.”

Several oppressively heavy moments passed before Taylor quietly asked, “Was Silas an experienced rider?”

“He’d only had the bike for about a year,” Jamar said. By some unspoken agreement, they slowed their steps. Jamar backed up against the weathered railing and plucked out a yellowed leaf caught between the grooves of the wooden slats. He twirled it between his fingers.

“I still remember the day me and Silas picked it up. He’d saved up for that bike all summer until he was finally able to buy it from a junkyard outside Houston. We took his grandfather’s old Chevy to get it. I was scared the damn bike would fall apart before we ever got it back to Katy.” Jamar huffed out a laugh. “But he fixed it up, and by the time school started, he had it running. Big Silas wouldn’t let him take it to school, but as soon as class let out, he was on that bike, tearing up the fields near his grandfather’s house.”

“Fields? Isn’t Katy pretty suburban?”