“No.”
“Mom said you smiled at her before the ambulance took her.”
The biker looked toward the Mother.
She nodded.
“You told me I was going to be okay.”
“I don’t remember.”
“I do.”
“You were lying.”
“I know.”
The biker smiled faintly.
The Mother continued:
“But I needed someone to lie convincingly for about thirty seconds.”
He laughed.
“You told me I had stubborn eyes.”
The biker stared.
That came back.
He had said that.
The Mother had tried closing her eyes.
He had kept talking because he feared she would lose consciousness.
He told her she looked too stubborn to die.
Not exactly medically sound encouragement.
It worked.
The Little Girl said:
“So I drew that smile.”
The biker’s eyes filled.
He looked down quickly.
The girl noticed.
“Are you crying?”
“No.”
One biker immediately said:
“He is.”
The Leader pointed toward him.
“You want to sleep outside?”
The child laughed.
The tension dissolved again.
The Mother looked toward the bar.
“Can we get out of the rain?”
The biker finally noticed all three of them were wet.
“Yeah.”
He stood.
Then immediately stopped.
“Kid allowed inside?”
One of the men opened the door.
“Kitchen side.”
“Owner’s in back.”
“No alcohol area.”
The Mother nodded.
“Fine.”
They entered through a side door into a dining room separated from the main bar.
Warm amber lamps.
Wood tables.
Old photographs.
Mounted license plates.
A jukebox playing quietly.
Rain became softer behind glass.
The Little Girl removed her pink hood.
Her braids were damp.
The biker hung his vest on a chair but remained standing until she sat.
The Mother noticed.
Manners hidden inside rough packaging.
Several other bikers entered.
Not crowding.
Just curious.
The Little Girl placed the sketchbook on the table.
The biker set the portrait beside it.
One brother leaned over.
“Made your beard too tidy.”
The biker glared.
The Little Girl agreed.
“I didn't have enough gray pencil.”
The room erupted.
The biker pointed at the child.
“Starting to regret saving your family.”
The Mother laughed harder than anyone.
The biker immediately looked horrified.
“Bad joke.”
The Mother wiped her eyes.
“No.”
“Actually perfect.”
The girl asked:
“Can I draw him?”
She pointed toward another biker.
The man straightened.
“Yes.”
The Leader said:
“No.”
“Why?”
“Ego problem.”
The man ignored him and posed.
The Little Girl opened a blank page.
For ten minutes, everyone watched.
She worked quickly.
Shape of beard.
Bandana.