“The board has voted to reinstate you immediately,” Hargrove continued. “With full pay for the suspended days and…” he managed a weak smile, “we’d still like to give you that retirement ceremony, if you’re willing.”
I should have felt vindicated. Should have felt joy at the turn of events. Instead, I felt a profound sadness that it had come to this at all.
Tommy caught up with me halfway across the lot. “Mr. Ray, wait.”
I paused, taking in the man before me—no longer the haunted soldier I’d encountered years ago, but strong, centered. Present.
“You know what I told Mrs. Westfield just now?” Tommy said. “I told her that when I came back from Afghanistan, I was planning to eat my gun. That I couldn’t sleep without nightmares, couldn’t close my eyes without seeing things no one should see.” His voice was steady, matter-of-fact. “I told her that riding with you saved my life. That the brotherhood of bikers gave me a purpose when I had none.”
I swallowed hard. “Tommy—”
“She cried,” he interrupted. “Actually cried. Said she had no idea.”
“Most people don’t,” I said. “They see the leather and the patches and make assumptions.”
“Yeah, well, she’s making different ones now.” Tommy nodded toward the crowd. “They all are. You should stay, let them apologize properly.”
I looked at the gathering—the parents I’d greeted every morning for decades, the children whose growth I’d witnessed year by year. They were trying, in their way, to make amends.
“I’ll think about the reinstatement,” I told Tommy. “But right now, I need to ride.”
He nodded, understanding in his eyes. “The wind?”
“The wind,” I confirmed.
I rode for hours that day, taking the old mountain roads where the curves demanded full attention and the views reminded me how small human problems really are. The Harley rumbled beneath me, a constant, dependable presence that had never judged, never abandoned me.
By sunset, I’d made my decision. I pulled into my driveway to find Emma sitting on my porch steps.
“I figured you’d be back eventually,” she said, standing as I cut the engine. “Did the ride help?”
“It always does.” I gestured for her to follow me inside.
“I’ve decided to accept the reinstatement,” I said. “But only until the end of the month, when I was scheduled to retire anyway.”
Emma nodded. “And the ceremony?”
“I’ll do it. Not for them, but for the kids.” I looked her straight in the eye. “But I have conditions.”
“I’m listening.”
“First, I’m driving my route every remaining day on the Harley, not in my car. I’ll park it right next to the bus where everyone can see it.”
Emma smiled, scribbling in her notebook. “Okay.”
“Second, I want a motorcycle safety program started at the school. Not to encourage kids to ride, but to educate them about sharing the road, seeing motorcycles in traffic. Too many bikers die because drivers don’t look for them.”
“That’s a great idea,” Emma said, still writing.
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