Monday morning, I drove up from St. Cloud at four-thirty so I could be at the bus barn by six-forty.
I didn’t tell him I was coming.
When I pulled into the lot, there were more cars than there should have been. A lot more.
Dr. Ostrander’s sedan. Principal Shaw’s SUV. A local news van from the Fergus Falls station. And maybe thirty other vehicles. Pickups. Minivans. A couple of old farm trucks.
Dad was standing beside bus fourteen with his travel mug of coffee, looking at all of it with an expression I can only describe as pained.
“Who called all these people?” he said when he saw me.
“Not me.”
“Somebody did.”
Dr. Ostrander came over. He was wearing jeans and a Norvik Lions sweatshirt.
“I may have mentioned it to a couple of people,” he said.
“A couple.”
“It got around.”
Dad looked at the news van. “I’m not talking to them.”
“You don’t have to talk to anybody, Ron. They’re just going to follow the bus. If that’s all right.”
My father sighed the deepest sigh I have ever heard come out of a human being.
“Fine,” he said. “Everybody stay behind me. Don’t pass on the gravel. The Hegland dog will get you.”
Principal Shaw was standing by the bus door in a new-looking canvas jacket. He looked nervous. He looked like a kid on the first day of school.
“Morning, Mr. Pfeiffer.”
“Morning. You brought a coat.”
“Yes sir.”
“Get on. Third seat on the right.”
Principal Shaw got on.
Dr. Ostrander got on behind him. He walked down the aisle, looked at the seats, and sat down in the third seat on the left without being told.
Dad looked at him in the big mirror over the windshield. For a second something passed across his face.
Then he looked at me.
“You coming?”
I got on.
I sat in the third seat on the right, next to the principal. It had been thirty years. It was the same seat. They’d replaced the vinyl, but it was the same seat.
Dad closed the door. He turned on the AM country station, low. He put the bus in gear.
And we drove Route Seven.
Specialty: Quiet Comebacks & Personal Justice
David Reynolds focuses on stories where underestimated individuals regain control of their lives. His writing centers on measured decisions rather than dramatic outbursts — emphasizing preparation, patience, and the long game. His characters don’t shout; they act.