“You know exactly how stupid you sound.”
Nora knew.
Accepted leave.
Mack entered hospice at home.
Sentinel Riders rotated visits.
No motorcycle revving outside.
His request.
“Neighbors already hate me.”
Luis brought shop gossip.
Pete had died two years earlier.
Curtis was in Arizona.
The club changed.
Younger riders.
Different jackets.
Same Road Home account.
The Continuity Policy still active.
Nora sat with Mack one evening.
He was thin.
His beard remained large enough to preserve the illusion of size.
The A.P. memorial patch lay on the table beside his bed because the vest had become too heavy.
Nora picked it up.
“You carried this twenty years.”
“Something like that.”
“You ever think Dad would hate it?”
“Constantly.”
“Then why keep it?”
Mack looked toward her.
“Because sometimes memorials are for the living.”
“Selfish.”
“Yes.”
She smiled.
He continued:
“Just don’t confuse carrying somebody with knowing what they’d say.”
Nora nodded.
Old lesson.
Mack’s breathing became harder at night.
Medication helped.
One evening he asked:
“Milk program still going?”
“Small Change?”
“Yeah.”
“Thirty-two locations.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Seriously?”
“Mostly run independently.”
“Good.”
“Why good?”
“So you can’t turn into a dictator.”
Nora laughed.
“Learned from the best.”
Mack looked toward the ceiling.
“Aaron would—”
He stopped.
Nora noticed.
Mack smiled.
“Almost did it.”
“Growth.”
“Get out.”
She stayed.
The following morning he asked Jenna to come alone.
She did.
They sat in his bedroom.
Mack held an envelope.
“I need a favor.”
Jenna stared.
“No dramatic death letters.”
“Too late.”
She sighed.
“What?”
“For Nora.”
“Give it to her.”
“After.”
Jenna took the envelope.
“Why me?”
“Because you’ll wait.”
She looked toward him.
“You think she won’t?”
“She’s Pierce blood.”
“Fair.”
Mack became quiet.
“Jenna.”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
She frowned.
“For what?”
“Not answering Aaron.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I could’ve listened.”
“Maybe.”
“I could’ve called years earlier.”
“Yes.”
He smiled weakly.
“You’re terrible at absolution.”
“You never asked me to lie.”
Fair.
Jenna continued:
“You also bought milk for his daughter.”
“Fixed my van.”
“Found the fund he paid into.”
“Stayed in her life without trying to own it.”
“Those things don’t erase the missed call.”
“No.”
“They’re separate.”
Mack looked toward her.
“That sounds like Aaron.”
“Unfortunately.”
They smiled.
Jenna leaned over and kissed his forehead.
Mack looked horrified.