She looked hard at her father. He seemed to be effortlessly pedaling the bike. She thought about talking to him, then realized it may be something driver would pick up on. 

Her father looked over, "You have a question, daughter?" 

She nodded, then thought it at him. "What if you're not really here, what if all of this has been a dream?"

He rubbed his chin thinking about it. "The last 18 years?"

"Yes" she thought back.

"People need things to be real, they need to believe in something beyond themselves." 

She waited.

"But to answer your question, yes, I exist in the sense that you can see me, in theory anyone I was connected with in the mortal realm with as long as they wanted to see me."

"Mother could see you?"

He laughed, pushing hard on the brakes of his bike, the back wheel rising in the air. She gasped, looked back, then noticed he had returned to his previous position. 

"Wouldn't that be something... No, she has her beliefs too firmly cemented. Plus she doesn't need me." He paused looking down, "she never did."

She looked at him, he looked incredibly sad. Then the sadness blew off his face like a theatre mask being whisked away. 

"But we each have people who need us, your mother needed you, you have her a sense of humanity, showed her the life wasn't just about the law and trials and judiciary committees."

She thought about it. "Is that why she thinks I need a sidekick? That it will, what, give me a sense of purpose?"

He shrugged. "We all need a sense of purpose, daughter." He tipped his hat, the bike faded, he faded, the top had remained another moment before it too faded.

Purpose. She thought about the word. Her mother had purpose. The driver had purpose. She thought hard about her own purpose. For the longest time her purpose had been to study and understand her abilities, to learn about thermodynamics. Would this shift her purpose? Could she hold onto both? 

Her head bumped the ceiling of the car and she looked around having been deep in thought. She landed back on the seat. She glared at the driver, he was ignoring her completely, his cigarette mostly gone, his window open blew some cool air around the car as he flicked the last of ash out the window. She thought about saying something, maybe watch for those potholes. She turned around looking out the window expecting a curb, a crater, a speed bump, maybe even a stunt ramp painted up like the American flag begging for Evel Knievel to rise up and take a jump off it. Nothing.