By the time he got home, intending to quickly shower and change before the gig, he’d almost managed to steady his pulse once again. It was amazing he’d gotten home in one piece.
He parked his truck, slammed the door, and headed up the front walkway to his house. He unlocked the door and noticed a white envelope sticking out of his mailbox. As he headed inside, he slipped the envelope from the box. Once in his foyer, Michael looked at the front of the envelope.
It was addressed by hand in a fancy script, on good stationery, the type they used in wedding invitations. The return address said Toronto Police Services.
Michael tore into the envelope and read the letter.
You are cordially invited to an award presentation hosted by the Toronto Police Service in recognition of admirable contributions by members of the community. On Sunday, September 18 at 1 p.m., in the lobby at headquarters, 40 College Street, 48 members of the community will be recognized for unselfish acts of bravery, courage, and assistance to the Toronto Police Service….
Michael scrolled down and saw his name on the list of those being honored.
A woman was dead. A young woman was left without a mother and father. Ten children had to deal with the fright of their lives.
And they wanted to give him a medal.
His heart began to pound. His shoulders shook. Michael tried to breathe but his breath stuck in his throat. Biting back his anguish, he held the invitation between his fingers and tore it in half. As his head started to hurt again, he left it on his foyer table and trudged upstairs to his bedroom.
