I felt anger rise inside me. Gabriel was a firefighter. He was a decorated hero. He had nothing to do with that life anymore, or so I believed.
The gray bearded man reached into the inside pocket of his folded vest and removed a small photograph. He placed it gently on top of the first vest without raising it for display.
Teresa noticed.
The final prayer concluded. People stood. The honor guard prepared to escort the flag draped casket down the aisle. White gloves gleamed beneath stained glass light.
Teresa rose and walked toward the back pew.
The older biker stepped aside immediately to give her room.
She picked up the photograph.
Her body went still.
From where I stood I could see only the faded edges, but when she turned it slightly the image became clear. Gabriel at about fourteen years old, thinner and rough around the edges, standing between two leather clad riders. One of them was the gray bearded man now waiting silently in our church. Gabriel was smiling widely, not the composed smile from academy portraits but something open and unguarded.
Teresa flipped the photograph over.
Her lips moved as she read the handwriting.
“One day I will wear the vest with honor.”