Your choice changes what happens next
The second bicycle
At sixty-eight, Nemi bought her second bicycle because she liked its turquoise paint. This disappointed the repair shop assistant, who had prepared a speech about fresh starts. Her first bicycle had carried her to evening shifts at the Rillhaven picture house. She had sold it before moving inland, and returned to the coastal town twelve years later with an entirely different collection of keys.
The shop had serviced this bicycle before offering it for sale. Nemi paid, tucked the receipt into her purse and wheeled it into the courtyard. Her sixteen-year-old granddaughter Tavi had come to draw boats, not supervise a purchase. She sketched the basket instead. A folded sheet sat beneath a clip, with a note from the previous owner: A summer map. Yours to keep. Sela.
Nemi knew that handwriting. Sela had once painted scenery behind the cinema screen while Nemi ran the projector upstairs. They had exchanged occasional cards after Nemi left, then stopped. Tavi looked from the paper to her grandmother. "Are we going somewhere?" Nemi rested one hand on the saddle. "Probably. But I would like to choose where before we tell everybody."