“Granddad would have loved this.”
Hank looked away.
Mara smiled.
“He's riding with you tomorrow.”
Hank laughed softly.
“Your grandfather has been gone for three years.”
“I know.”
She touched his arm.
“But you're still carrying him with you.”
One Last Drive
Sunday morning arrived quietly.
Before the meeting, Hank took the Mustang out.
The Texas sky was turning gold.
The streets were almost empty.
The engine sounded exactly the way his father had taught him to make it sound.
For a moment, Hank was twelve years younger.
His father was sitting beside him.
One hand rested on the dashboard.
The brass plaque caught the sunlight.
FOR DAD.
Hank drove slowly.
He didn't need revenge.
He didn't need applause.
He only needed the truth.
After sunrise, he returned home.
The Mustang went back into the garage.
Hank put on his Class A uniform.
Then he looked at himself in the mirror.
Three rows of ribbons.
Chief's insignia.
Badge.
Twenty-eight years.
He picked up his service cap.
And walked out.
The HOA Meeting
At 3:55 p.m., every chair inside the Stonebridge Crossing clubhouse was occupied.
Maddy stood at the front.
She wore pearls.