“Got it,” Jack said. Jamie had been a couple years ahead of him in high school; he wasn’t the most physically talented player on the team, but nonetheless Jamie had been the undisputed leader during the boys’ basketball team legendary run to the state basketball championship his senior year. The fact that they ended up on the same SEAL team was a mild coincidence.
“They’re honoring both the boys’ and girls’ teams from that year,” Grannie said.
“I’m glad,” Rose said. “A couple of the girls went on to play pro ball in Europe.”
“It was a very good year, and it’s time to induct both teams into the Hall of Fame.”
“Sounds very cool,” Keenan said. “It’ll be good to see Hawthorn again.”
“We hold the ceremony under a tent set up on the Garden Club’s lawn,” Grannie said. “It’s beautiful.”
“The club’s president, aka the mayor’s wife, rents the space to the high school for a nominal fee,” Rose added.
Keenan looked like he was having trouble following. “Hawthorn’s mom,” Jack said.
“Ah,” Keenan said, clearly trying to reconcile badass Lieutenant Hawthorn, who’d once leveled a Russian soldier the size of the Hulk with a single punch to the jaw, with having a mother. “I figured him for a military kid.”
“Close. His dad used to be the chief of police and is now the mayor. Their family has been Lancaster PD forever,” Jack said. “His brother’s in the police department. Hawthorn broke tradition to go into the Navy.”
Thinking of breaking tradition reminded Jack of Erin, and all the ways she was starting her life again. He mulled this over through the rest of the meal, coffee, and dessert while they looked at pictures streamed from Rose’s laptop to Grannie’s TV. Ruins, history, his grandmother bright-eyed and smiling, arm in arm with her best friends and Rose under a wide expanse of sky. Afterwards he and Keenan cleaned up the kitchen while Rose and Grannie put the food away. “Look at us,” he said, elbowing Keenan in the side, knowing the running water would cover their conversation. “Washing dishes after Sunday dinner.”
Keenan wore a red-and-white checked apron with a frilly eyelet ruffle as serenely as he’d worn cammies and a grenade launcher. “Not where you want to be?” he said quietly.
“I’m just surprised you’re here,” Jack said.
Keenan shrugged and passed him the roast platter, scraped and ready for the dishwasher. “We’d always talked about working for Gray Wolfe as a team. I was ready to come home,” he said. “Finally.”
“Was it the job?”
“Among other things,” Keenan said. “They haven’t hired a replacement for me.”
“They haven’t?”
“They want the right man for the job. You should think about it.”
“I’m not ready,” Jack said reflexively, even though he’d told Erin he was looking at jobs with security contractors. He’d had to say something, look like a man with a plan, when she gave that “no messy emotions” speech.
“How are you going to know if you’re ready or not unless you give it a shot?”
Because he knew. Deep in his bones, he knew. “I need a favor,” he said, changing the subject.
“Name it,” Keenan said.
“A friend of mine is buying a motorcycle. I need someone to ride it from the dealership to the airfield on Highway 75.”
“Why can’t he ride it out there?”
“Because she’s new to riding. Sure as shit she’s going to lay the bike down, and I don’t want her doing that in front of the guys from the dealership.”
Keenan’s gaze sharpened. “Your librarian?”
“No comment,” Jack said, and shut off the water. “What about you? You never go this long without someone on a string.”
“No comment,” Keenan said. “What’s she buying?”
“A Duc Monster 696.”
“That’s a hell of a lot of bike for a beginner.”
“She can handle it. Hey, Rose, can I borrow your motorcycle leathers?”
“Of course,” Rose said, “but you’ll find them a little short in the inseam.”
“They’re for a friend.”
“You ride?” Keenan said to Rose.
“Got my license same time he did,” Rose said.
Jack didn’t like the look on Keenan’s face. The last thing he wanted K figuring out was that his sister was actually the coolest woman he knew, smart, determined, taking no shit. “Great. Thanks. I’ll pick them up later.”
“I’ve got some errands to run, so I’ll bring them over later tonight.”
“I’ll meet you at the dealership tomorrow,” Keenan said. “Take an early lunch or something.”
After the good-byes, Jack texted Erin. 11 a.m. at the dealership tomorrow let’s do this.
*
At 10:59 a.m. the Ducati dealership held only Erin, clutching her brand-new helmet, the salesman, clutching the biggest check Erin had ever written out of her post-divorce checking account, and the receptionist. At exactly eleven o’clock, the parking lot filled with engine noise from Jack’s purring Duc, and a squat, tough-looking truck driven by a guy in a suit and tie. Jack took off his helmet, said a couple of words to the guy as he swung out of the truck, and patted her Duc as he walked by it into the dealership.
“Nice bike,” the man following Jack into the showroom said, sounding impressed.