He looked up.
"What situation?"
"The crossing guard."
"She called in sick."
"School was supposed to provide someone else."
"They didn't."
"I've been calling from here for two days."
His anger rose instantly.
He stood.
His daughter flinched.
He saw it.
Stopped.
Sat back down.
The shame on his face was immediate.
"Sorry."
She relaxed slowly.
"You're allowed to be angry."
"I know."
"Just don't turn into a wrecking ball."
He nodded.
"What do you want done?"
The question surprised her.
She considered.
"I want the school to actually follow her mobility plan."
"Okay."
"I want another adult at the crossing."
"Okay."
"I don't want six motorcycles parked across the superintendent's front lawn."
The biker looked offended.
"I wasn't thinking six."
She stared.
He sighed.
"Fine."
She almost smiled again.
Before he left, she asked:
"Are you picking her up?"
He looked surprised.
"Should I?"
"If she'll go with you."
"Would you be okay with that?"
His daughter hesitated.
There it was.
Trust could not be summoned because blood demanded it.
Finally:
"Yes."
One word.
Not forgiveness.
A doorway.
The biker returned to Maple Ridge that afternoon.
He arrived early.
No motorcycle.
He borrowed his friend's SUV because he realized a walker, backpack, and eight-year-old child would be difficult on the back of a Harley.
His club never let him forget that logistical revelation.
He waited near the school entrance.
When the doors opened, children poured out.
Then he saw her.
The little girl moved slowly down the ramp.
A teaching aide walked beside her.
She spotted the bear patch immediately.
Her entire face lit.
"Grandpa!"
The biker stopped breathing for the second time that day.
She moved the walker faster than she should.
He held up both hands.
"No race."
She slowed.
When she reached him, she looked around.
"Where's your motorcycle?"
"Apparently they're not ideal school buses."
She nodded seriously.
"No seat for my walker."
"Exactly."
She seemed pleased that he had figured this out.
The aide approached.
"She needs her car seat."
The biker's face went blank.
The aide stared.
"She is eight."
"I know."
"She's under the height requirement."
He looked toward the SUV.
Then at the aide.
"Right."
His granddaughter giggled.