Preacher’s funeral had ended hours ago, and it had been a service any biker would have been proud to receive. Bikers from all over the country had come to pay their respects. Personal stories had been shared—some happy, some sad, and others so vulgar I’d felt compelled to cover my young son’s ears. Then my teenage daughter Ivy had sung one of Preacher’s favorite songs a cappella, only managing a few lines before everyone else joined in.
Later at the graveyard, hundreds of motorcyclists had lined their bikes along the narrow pathways, engines revving. “Preacher!” they’d shouted, their fists raised. “Preacher, Preacher, Preacher…” Louder and louder they’d chanted his name as if the louder they shouted they might somehow reach him.
I glanced over my shoulder, scanning the remaining motorcycles parked along the cemetery path. Only family and Silver Demons remained now. They talked quietly amongst themselves, leaving me to my grief.
Turning back to the simple cement tombstone before me, my gaze traced the engravings. Beneath Preacher’s name and the years he’d lived,BELOVED BROTHER AND FATHERwas inscribed. And below that, “Ride forever free”had been etched in scrawling cursive.
My eyes filled with tears for the hundredth time today.
Memories assaulted me.
Preacher lifting me up onto his broad shoulders, showing me the world from new heights.
Inside the clubhouse, Janis Joplin on the stereo, standing on Preacher’s feet while we danced around the living room.
The first time I’d ridden on the back of his motorcycle, putting on a brave face while my hands fisted in his jacket, squeezing him as tightly as I could.
My chest grew suddenly tight, and my vision swam. Unable to catch my breath, my hands flew to my chest and I gasped, forcing my lungs to fill.
When you’re little, your parents are your whole world. But as you grow, you change. You become your own person, create a family of your own, and you start to forget. What a cruel, cosmic joke the world plays on us, causing us to remember… by taking them away.
“Oh, God, Daddy,” I whispered, swiping at my wet cheeks. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be in this world without you.”
“Mom?” Ivy’s familiar hand slid into mine and squeezed. I squeezed her back, always glad for her company.
“I’m okay, baby,” I lied, fighting back another wave of tears. Kids will do that to you—force you to be strong when you feel anything but. Although as I looked over at the beautiful young woman beside me, I could hardly call her a kid anymore.
She flashed me a sad smile that caused her dimples to deepen. Blonde and blue-eyed, she was every bit Deuce, and yet I could also see so much of me in her. In her eyes that were just a bit too big, and in her lips, thicker and wider than most. And in the generous curves of her body.
These were all traits I’d once thought I’d inherited from Ginny. I’d only just learned the truth—that I looked more like my mother than I did anyone else. What a difference a day can make. The turned-over earth beneath my feet was proof enough of that.
“I meant to show you this.” I pulled the faded photograph from my coat pocket and handed it to Ivy.
“This is my mother. Your… grandmother.” The foreign words tumbled awkwardly from me.
“Wow,” Ivy breathed, her eyes widening. “Is that you she’s holding—the baby?”
Pressing my lips together, I nodded sadly.
My daughter’s gaze darted between the picture and me, and another smile split her lips. “Oh my God, Mom, you look so much like her.”
My damned eyes filled again.
“And Grandpa was super hot…” Ivy’s nose suddenly wrinkled. “And I can’t believe I just said my grandpa was hot.”
Laughter bubbled up inside me. “He was, wasn’t he?” Wrapping my arm around Ivy’s waist, I laughed through my tears.
Deuce appeared on the other side of me. He ran a hand down the center of my back. “You ready to ride, darlin’?”
Instead of flying home, Deuce and I had decided to ride back to Montana on my father’s ’69 chopper. Preacher had loved that bike more than any other and had kept it in pristine condition all these years. And I knew nothing would make him happier than knowing I was keeping his girl on the road.
But I wasn’t ready to leave just yet. To turn away from Preacher’s grave, to leave this cemetery… it felt so final. I wasn’t ready to let go yet. I needed another moment with him.
Who was I kidding? I needed more than a moment. I needed to see his crooked grin once more. I needed to hear his smoke-roughened voice call me “baby girl” just one last time.
“I need a few more minutes,” I told Deuce. “Where’s Damon?” My eyes roamed the remaining people, searching for my son.
“Last I saw he was runnin’ around pickin’ out graves for everyone.”
