She had feared Richard for years, but she had also depended on his approval as a means of avoiding harm. Being able to refuse a message without wondering what he would do when he got home was an unfamiliar form of freedom. It made her feel powerful one minute and horribly exposed the next. She wondered whether other adults lived this way, making decisions without rehearsing how someone might punish them. When Marisol said that most people did, Chloe realized there were entire parts of ordinary life she would have to learn from the beginning.
Jack called one Sunday afternoon with news about the motorcycle's paperwork. He sounded less intimidating over the telephone, though his voice remained deep enough that Chloe recognized it immediately. The authorities had located an old purchase record confirming that Dominic Hayes had bought and customized the Shovelhead long before his disappearance. Pending the case's conclusion, the club's legal representative was working with Dominic's family to establish who could eventually claim it. Jack said the motorcycle would not be restored until the investigators finished, and that nobody intended to rush them.
"I keep thinking about him on that road," Jack admitted. "What he might've been trying to do. Why he thought he could trust the people who stopped him."
Chloe sat by the window and watched a pair of children ride bicycles along the sidewalk. "Maybe he trusted someone because he wanted to do the right thing," she said. "I trusted Arthur. If I hadn't, I would still be there."
Jack was quiet for a moment. "You might be right," he said. "Preacher was stubborn about a lot of things. He was especially stubborn when he thought somebody was getting hurt."
"You miss him."
"Every day."
There was no performance in the answer. Chloe had spent much of her life around men who could speak about anger but almost never grief. Jack said three words, then waited while she understood what they meant. She found herself telling him about David's wrench and the way her father explained engines to her as a child. They talked for nearly an hour, two people from different generations discovering that loss had shaped the way both of them understood the world.
Before they ended the call, Jack asked whether she had thought about working in a shop. Chloe admitted she had been too frightened to consider it seriously. She knew how to recognize familiar problems, but most of her experience came from watching David and keeping Richard's broken lawn equipment running with whatever parts he allowed her to use. Jack told her that watching carefully was a skill, but proper training mattered more. He offered to introduce her to an independent shop owner in Nevada, provided Chloe wanted the introduction.
"I want to earn my place," she said.
"Then earn it," Jack replied. "And don't let anybody tell you that accepting help makes the work less yours."
The introduction led her to Becca Shaw, a mechanic in Henderson who ran Desert Line Automotive out of a modest three-bay building behind a tire shop. Becca was in her forties, with cropped dark hair and an expression suggesting she had already heard every excuse an unreliable employee could invent. She listened to Chloe describe her limited experience, then asked what sort of work she was willing to do. Chloe answered that she wanted to learn the right way, starting with whatever somebody trusted her to handle.