He paused, looking at the empty chair where Bobby used to sit. “But, if you’re up for it, the boys and I get hungry on Sundays. And we haven’t had a decent home-cooked meal in a while.”
Margaret laughed, a genuine, watery laugh. “I make a pot roast that Bobby used to say was better than anything in the Army.”
“We’ll be here,” Axel grinned.
From that day on, Margaret Thompson was never alone. The neighbors would often peek out their blinds to see seven heavy motorcycles parked in her driveway every Sunday afternoon. They watched as the Hells Angels mowed her lawn, fixed her gutters, and carried her groceries.
Denise Harmon went to prison for ten years.
Margaret Thompson lived the rest of her life protected by the fiercest family anyone could ask for, knowing that while she had lost Bobby, he had never really left her side.