Danielle laughed softly.
"She'll be thrilled."
Frank ended the call and sat quietly for a moment.
Sixteen.
It seemed impossible.
He remembered Ava at five years old, sitting on his shoulders while he carried her across the backyard.
He remembered teaching her how to change a tire.
He remembered her first school dance.
Her first argument with him.
Her first job.
Her first heartbreak.
And now she was old enough to understand what had happened in that driveway.
Old enough to understand that power did not always arrive wearing a uniform.
Sometimes it arrived with a clipboard.
Sometimes it wore a blazer.
Sometimes it smiled politely while asking you to sign something you hadn't read.
The waitress brought his food.
Frank ate slowly.
Before leaving, he folded a twenty-dollar bill beneath the coffee cup and walked outside.
The air had cooled.
He put on his helmet, started the Harley, and headed home.
When he reached his street, something felt different.
Not dramatically different.
There were no cameras.
No reporters.
No police cars.
No shouting.
Just houses.
Lawns.
Driveways.
Mailboxes.
But Frank noticed people outside.
A few neighbors lifted their hands.
One man gave him a thumbs-up.
Another woman smiled.
A teenager sitting on a porch pointed toward the Harley and said something to his father.
Frank lifted two fingers from the handlebar in acknowledgment.
Then he saw Danielle and Ava waiting in the driveway.
Ava ran toward him.
"Dad!"
Frank slowed the motorcycle and shut it off.
She stood in front of him with her arms crossed.
"You took forever."
"I stopped for food."
"You didn't bring me anything."
"I ate it."
She stared at him.
"That's terrible parenting."
Frank laughed.
Danielle walked over and kissed his cheek.
"Welcome home."
Frank looked at both of them.
For a second, he couldn't speak.
Then he nodded.
"Feels good to be here."
Ava looked at the motorcycle.
"So..."
Frank raised an eyebrow.
"So what?"
"You said I could ride with you."
"I did."
"Tonight?"
He looked at Danielle.
Danielle shrugged.
"Don't look at me."
Frank turned back to Ava.
"Go get your jacket."
Ava disappeared into the house.
Frank stood beside the Harley while Danielle remained next to him.
"You okay?" she asked.
Frank looked toward the house.
"Yeah."
"Really?"
He took a breath.
"Yeah."
Then he added quietly, "I think I finally understand why Dad kept that old truck for thirty years."
Danielle smiled.
"Because he was sentimental?"
"Because nobody else got to decide what it meant."
She leaned against him.
"You know, there was a time I thought this whole thing might cost us everything."
Frank looked down at her.
"So did I."
"But it didn't."
"No."
He looked at the Harley.
"It almost did."
Danielle squeezed his hand.
"Almost isn't did."
Ava came back outside wearing a denim jacket and helmet.
"Ready?"
Frank smiled.