“That’s early.”
“I know.”
Derek leaned against the wall.
“What’s the rush?”
Graham looked around the room.
“Because I’m tired of waiting for perfect timing.”
Nobody spoke.
He continued.
“We spent fifteen years not calling Tommy.”
“Bull died with things unresolved.”
“I’m fifty-eight.”
“Hank’s ancient.”
Hank raised one finger.
“Careful.”
A few people laughed.
Graham looked toward Cassie.
“She came in here asking questions and somehow we all started answering things we’d avoided.”
He turned back.
“We’ve got Tommy here.”
“We’ve got the outreach program growing.”
“We’ve got younger vets asking to ride.”
“Let’s stop assuming next year is guaranteed.”
The vote was unanimous.
Preparation consumed the following month.
Cassie helped Maria catalog memorial patches.
They worked in Maria’s sewing room beneath bright lamps.
Old leather lay across the table.
“This one was Jimmy’s.”
Maria touched faded stitching.
“Hank’s brother.”
Cassie photographed it.
“This one?”
“Bull.”
Derek’s father.
The leather was cracked near the shoulder.
Cassie ran her fingers just above it without touching.
Maria lifted another patch.
“This is Casey.”
“Leon Casey?”
“Nineteen.”
“First club member we lost.”
“How?”
“Construction accident.”
Cassie frowned.
“I thought motorcycle crash.”
“See?”
Maria smiled.
“That’s why you ask.”
They continued.
Cassie photographed Maria’s hands as much as the patches.
Fingers guiding thread.
Needle entering leather.
Thumb flattening a seam.
“Why do you sew these?”
Cassie asked.
“Because I’m good at it.”
“That’s all?”
Maria looked up.
“No.”
She held the leather.
“When someone dies, everybody wants a ceremony.”
“Flowers.”
“Speeches.”
“Rides.”
“Then people go home.”
“I need something my hands can do.”
Cassie wrote that down.
At the garage, Graham, Tommy, and Derek began spending evenings together.
At first, Derek mostly listened.
Then he started asking questions.
One night, Cassie arrived to find them discussing the veterans outreach program.
Derek looked at Tommy.
“You really think we can make a difference?”
Tommy shrugged.
“Not for everybody.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“You don’t save everyone.”
“You give somebody a number to call.”
“You invite him on a ride.”
“You help his wife figure out where to go when she’s scared.”
“You show up.”
“Sometimes that’s enough.”
Derek stared at a wrench in his hand.
“My father thought helping outsiders would dilute the club.”
Tommy nodded.
“He did.”
“You hated him for that.”
“For a while.”
“And now?”
Tommy looked toward a photograph of Bull on the wall.
“I think he was scared.”
“Of what?”
“Losing the only thing that had kept him alive.”
Derek looked surprised.
Tommy continued.
“Bull and I disagreed on method.”
“Not intention.”
“He wanted to protect the club.”
“I wanted to expand what it protected.”