watched Dale’s smug, folded-arm stance crumble into a defensive slouch as Officer Miller pointed a firm finger at his chest, no doubt explaining the criminal penalties for misusing emergency services to settle a petty neighborhood grudge.
I fired the Harley back up. The deep, familiar rumble vibrated through the frame, and I felt Lily’s little arms squeeze me tight. The trembling had stopped. The tension was gone from her grip.
“Hold on, Lily-bug,” I told her over my shoulder.
“I feel the wind, Grandpa,” she yelled back, her voice bright and fearless again.
We finished our loop around the block. When Sunday rolled around the following week, I didn’t forget the piece of paper in my wallet. I made the call. And true to his word, exactly fifteen minutes later, Officer Miller’s cruiser was idling at the end of our driveway. He didn’t use the siren this time, just flashed
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