Chapter 13 - The Clubhouse Couldn’t Be Saved
The broken slab revealed more structural damage than anyone expected.
Water infiltration.
Corroded support elements.
Void formation around the shelter roof.
Repair was technically possible.
Financially absurd.
The Black Hollow Riders voted to leave.
That hurt Wade more than the environmental investigation.
He had joined at twenty-one.
Buried friends from that clubhouse.
Celebrated marriages.
Divorces.
Sobriety anniversaries.
Cancer remissions.
Bad tattoos.
Good funerals.
My father’s memorial became the last gathering held there.
Before demolition, the club invited members to remove personal objects.
Wade asked if I wanted Dad’s electrical panel labels.
“No.”
His old stool?
“No.”
The framed photograph from the memorial?
I hesitated.
“Yes.”
Then Wade showed me the memorial wall.
Metal plaques for deceased members.
Dad’s spot had already been drilled.
A polished plate sat on the workbench.
ELI MERCER — BROTHER, ELECTRICIAN, ROAD CAPTAIN
Wade had not installed it.
“What do you want me to do?”
I stared at the plate.
“Why are you asking me?”
“Because if I hang it, half the club says I’m excusing him.”
“And if you don’t?”
“The other half says I’m erasing thirty-four years.”
“What do you think?”
Wade looked toward the empty wall.
“I think he belongs there.”
Then:
“I’m not sure belonging there means we have to lie about him.”
That answer stayed with me.
I took the plaque home.
May you like
Not as a decision.
As an unfinished question.
