"It isn't advice."
"What is it?"
"An order."
He laughed.
"Yes, ma'am."
Martha pointed at him.
"Don't start."
The investigation revealed something unexpected.
The missing supplies had been diverted to a private warehouse.
Someone had been selling donated materials.
The deputy who had questioned Dean was involved in the investigation.
He returned to Martha's farm.
This time his attitude was different.
He apologized.
"I judged them before I knew them."
Martha crossed her arms.
"That happens."
The deputy looked toward Dean.
"You helped us find the warehouse."
Dean nodded.
"We found the trucks."
The deputy smiled.
"Same difference."
Martha shook her head.
"No. It isn't."
The deputy looked confused.
She pointed at Dean.
"He could have made your job harder."
Instead, Dean had provided information.
No threats.
No violence.
No revenge.
Just facts.
The deputy nodded.
"I owe you one."
Dean answered:
"Help the people who lost their homes."
The deputy looked toward Martha.
"Already working on it."
For the first time, Martha believed that the town might recover.
One afternoon, Martha asked Dean to help her open the old shed.
Inside was Walter's motorcycle.
Covered in dust.
Martha hadn't touched it in years.
Dean pulled the cover away.
An old Harley appeared beneath it.
Martha's eyes filled with tears.
"I thought I'd sold it."
Dean inspected the bike.
"You didn't."
"I couldn't remember."
"That's okay."
He examined the engine.
"It can run."