The Flu 1/2 by Jacqueline Druga

thick plastic cloverleaf and his thumb brushed over it. Old, faded, the color almost bleached out. His father had it for years before Mick took it.
    When he closed his eyes, he heard an echo of young Sam’s voice:
    “ Oh, man,” Sam said with the dreamy enthusiasm of a fourteen-year-old boy. “Oh, man, Mick.”
    They were so young. Mick could see Sam’s face, the backward baseball cap he wore as the two of them walked to the motorcycle parked off to the side of Mick’s trailer home, a bike that was beaten, dirty, and ugly.
    “ My Uncle Leo gave it to me last month,” Mick said to Sam. “Don’t work.”
    “ That’s why I’m here.” Sam smiled and set down the tool box. “Oh, man.”
    “ You keep saying that,” Mick stated.
    “ How come you waited so long to tell me?” Sam examined the bike. “You know I could fix it.”
    “ Can you?” Mick asked.
    “ Heck, yeah,” Sam scoffed with a snicker. “Ain’t I the best?”
    “ Next to your dad.”
    “ He taught me.” Sam crouched down before the bike. “So, you didn’t answer. How come you didn’t tell me?”
    “ Embarrassed.” Mick shrugged as he crouched down.
    “ Embarrassed?” Sam asked, shocked. “What for?”
    “ Look at it,” Mick pointed.
    “ Yeah, now. But, Mick, this is gonna be awesome when we’re done. Awesome.”
    “ You think?”
    “ I know,” Sam said with certainty. “It’ll be so cool riding it around. All the kids are gonna be so jealous. But better not let Chief Callahan catch you riding. He’ll nail your ass for riding too young.”
    “ We’ll ride it up here then,” Mick said.
    “ You gonna let me ride it?”
    “ Hell, yeah. You gonna fix it for me?”
    “ You bet.”
    “ Then you’ll ride.” Mick nodded with a smile. “It’ll be...cool.” He smiled again, his grin meeting Sam’s.
     
    Mick could still see it, that smile on Sam’s young face. Then that vision faded, and the keychain came back into focus when a voice calling his name pulled him from that memory.
    “Chief Owens,” the male voice spoke.
    Mick turned to see who it was. “Oh, hey, Mr. McCaffrey.” Mick extended his hand.
    “Patrick.” He shook Mick’s hand. “Call me Patrick.”
    ‘What can I do for you?” Mick asked.
    “Sorry to bother you. But today is the trip to the zoo, and I have the first group scheduled to go. I didn’t get a confirmation call from Dylan about Tigger. Could you tell her to let me know if I need to pick him up today?”
    Mick stammered as he answered. “Um, I don’t know if today is gonna be a good day. Then again it might be. See, Sam Hughes...the boys’ father, he had an accident last night. Was killed.”
    “Oh my God,” Patrick whispered in shock. “I didn’t know.”
    “You would have eventually. It’s still early.”
    “That’s awful. I’m sorry. Um....” Patrick fought for the right words. “Had I known I wouldn’t have bothered you with this.”
    “No, no.” Mick noticed the large brown bag placed on the counter, and he stood up. “You know, thinking about it, I’ll mention it to Dylan. It might be what Tigger needs. What time?”
    “Noon.”
    Mick nodded. “I’ll get back to you.”
    “I appreciate it,” Patrick said. “Thanks.”
    Cook pushed the bag to Mick. “How’s Dylan doing?”
    “She’s doing,” Mick replied. “I expect her to be better today than tomorrow. Today’s busy. Lots to do. Funeral home, church and stuff. Boys need suits. So she won’t be able to think too much about it for that long.” Mick reached into his pocket. “How much for the food?”
    Cook shook his head. “On us.”
    “Thank you.” Mick lifted the bag. “I’d better head over there.” He started to leave.
    Cook called out to Mick before he left, “Tell Dylan we’re thinking about her.”
    Mick nodded as he walked out. He too was thinking about Dylan. Dylan and the boys, they were all he could seem to think about.
     
    * * *
     
    Anchorage, Alaska
     
    Garbage day.
    Bill