The afternoon breeze stirred the loose corner of the canvas while I continued looking over the old machine. I could almost hear Uncle Will explaining how every scratch had a story. How every motorcycle deserved another chance if someone cared enough to give it one.
George reached into his pocket and handed me a weathered envelope.
"I nearly forgot." He said and I looked down at it.
"What's this?" I asked.
"The family found it in the shed." He said so I carefully turned the envelope over.
Written across the front in faded blue ink were two words in handwriting I recognized instantly.
Will Lawson.
My throat tightened and George smiled softly.
"I figured both belonged back here." George said and I looked from the envelope to the motorcycle and gently shook my head.
"I don't even know
