He continued:
“First time after, froze under an overpass.”
“Couldn’t breathe.”
“I kept hearing metal.”
The Mother said nothing.
The biker looked at her.
“Sounds stupid.”
“No.”
“It was your accident.”
“It happened to you too.”
He looked away.
Again with the uncomfortable truth.
The Little Girl finished the second biker drawing.
Everyone applauded.
The subject looked at it.
Then frowned.
“You made my nose huge.”
The girl replied:
“I draw what I see.”
The Biker Leader laughed so hard he nearly knocked his coffee over.
The Little Girl beamed.
Soon hot chocolate appeared.
Nobody admitted ordering it.
French fries too.
The Mother tried paying.
The bartender refused.
“House.”
The Biker Leader objected.
“You never comp me fries.”
“You're fifty-eight.”
“Fifty-seven.”
“Exactly.”
The Little Girl leaned toward him.
“You're old.”
He sighed.
“Long evening.”
They ate.
The Mother eventually asked:
“How did you end up there that night?”
The biker leaned back.
“Wrong road.”
“Seriously?”
“Was riding home.”
“Storm closed the highway.”
“Navigation sent me around.”
The Mother stared.
“So you weren't even supposed to be there.”
“No.”
The Little Girl listened.
“Then if the road wasn't closed…”
The biker knew what came next.
“You wouldn't have found Mom.”
“Probably not.”
The child became serious.
“What if you stopped for gas?”
“Kid.”
“What if your motorcycle broke?”
“Kid.”
“What if—”
Her Mother touched her hand.
“We don't live inside the what-ifs.”
The Little Girl looked at her.
“But—”
The Mother smiled.
“We live inside what happened.”
The biker watched.
That sentence stayed.
The Mother continued:
“The road closed.”
“He came.”
“We survived.”
“That’s the part we have.”
The Little Girl nodded.
Then looked toward the biker.
“Good thing you got lost.”
He smiled.
“First time anybody’s thanked me for my sense of direction.”
The biker asked to see the newspaper clipping again.
The Mother handed it over.
He examined the date.
Then froze.
The others noticed.
“What?”
One brother asked.
The biker pointed.
“That was my birthday.”
Silence.
The Mother stared.
“What?”
“June seventeenth.”
He laughed softly.
“Forgot that part.”
The Little Girl’s eyes widened.
“You saved me on your birthday?”