“Honey, this isn’t a petting zoo.”
“I know.”
“You can’t just ride along because your teacher thinks leather jackets make an interesting semester.”
“My teacher doesn’t know I’m here yet.”
That stopped a few laughs.
Derek’s eyebrows rose.
“That seems responsible.”
“She knows my topic. She doesn’t know I’m asking for direct access.”
“Even better.”
Cassie opened her mouth.
Then she heard it.
The sound reached the building before the motorcycle appeared.
Low.
Heavy.
A deep Harley-Davidson rhythm approaching along the cracked road outside.
Several people instinctively turned toward the front windows.
The engine itself was not extraordinary in a parking lot belonging to a motorcycle club.
What mattered was the rhythm.
Maria recognized it first.
Hank Foster, sitting near the far wall, looked up from his coffee.
Derek’s smile faded.
The motorcycle rolled into the parking lot.
The engine dropped to idle.
Then stopped.
Silence returned.
Boots crossed gravel outside.
The clubhouse door opened.
Graham stepped inside.
He was fifty-eight, lean rather than large, with a silver-threaded beard cropped close to his jaw and gray eyes that could look tired, amused, or absolutely unreadable depending on the moment.
His leather cut was old.
Not fashionably old.
Actually old.
The seams had been repaired in several places. The black leather had softened to charcoal along the shoulders. Every patch had been stitched rather than glued.
Across the back sat the Iron Wolves emblem.
Beneath it was a smaller patch.
FOUNDING MEMBER
1971
Conversation died.
Graham removed his gloves.
Looked around.
Then looked at Cassie.
She wished suddenly that she had not insisted on coming in first.
“Dad,” she said.
The word landed across the room like dropped metal.
Hank leaned backward.
“Well, hell.”
Maria’s mouth twitched.
Derek looked from Cassie to Graham, then back again.
“You’re Graham’s kid?”
Cassie hated how quickly the tone changed.
“I was the same person thirty seconds ago.”
Maria actually smiled at that.
Graham walked across the room.
He stopped beside Cassie.
Did not hug her.
Did not put an arm around her shoulders.
Cassie appreciated that.
He had promised he would not rescue her.
He looked at the notebook.
“You tell them?”
“I was trying.”
“Looked more like they were enjoying themselves.”
A few people suddenly became interested in their drinks.
Graham turned toward Cassie.
“You want to finish, or should I?”
Cassie took a breath.
“My project isn’t really about motorcycles.”
Derek muttered, “Could’ve fooled me.”
Graham looked at him.
Derek stopped.
Cassie continued.
“It’s about what happened when veterans came home and the country had no idea what to do with them.”
That changed the room.
She saw it immediately.
Shoulders that had been loose became still.
Eyes shifted.
One man stared down at the floor.
Cassie’s voice softened.
“My dad came home from Vietnam in 1971.”
Graham looked toward the old photograph on the wall.
Cassie continued.
“He doesn’t talk about that time very much. I know pieces. I know he couldn’t sleep. I know he couldn’t keep a job at first. I know people treated returning Vietnam veterans very differently than they treat veterans at parades now.”
Nobody interrupted.
“I also know this club started the same year he came home.”
Graham exhaled slowly.
Cassie looked at him.
“I know every Sunday when he rides with you, he comes home different.”
Graham’s eyes moved back toward her.
“Not happy exactly. Lighter.”
Cassie gripped the notebook.
“I want to understand what gave me back my father before I was even born.”
No laughter followed.
Hank’s expression changed.
Maria lowered her eyes.
Even Derek looked uncomfortable.
Graham stared at his daughter for several seconds.
He had known the project topic.
He had known she wanted to interview the club.
He had not known that was how she understood it.
Finally Graham turned toward the room.
“She asked me months ago.”
Hank asked, “And?”
“I told her no.”
Cassie folded her arms.
“Repeatedly.”
“I noticed.”
A few men smiled.
Graham continued.
“Then she asked again.”
“And again,” Cassie added.