The bunny’s torn ear hurt differently.
The teenager looked miserable again.
“My grandmother sews.”
Nobody answered.
He continued:
“She lives over the bakery.”
“She can fix anything.”
The Little Girl looked suspicious.
“You're trying to take my bunny?”
“No.”
The teenager immediately raised both hands.
“No.”
“I mean…”
He looked toward his father.
The father helped.
“We can bring her here if you'd like.”
The Little Girl considered.
Her mother smiled.
“Your choice.”
The Little Girl looked at the torn seam.
Then at the teenager.
“You can ask her.”
His entire face brightened.
“I’ll call.”
Ten minutes later, an elderly woman arrived carrying a metal sewing tin.
She had apparently been informed only that her grandson needed emergency stuffed-animal repair.
This seemed sufficient.
She walked directly toward the Little Girl.
“Let me see the patient.”
The Little Girl smiled.
She handed over the bunny reluctantly.
The woman examined the ear.
“This surgery will be complicated.”
The child’s eyes widened.
The older woman looked toward her grandson.
“Fortunately, I studied rabbit medicine.”
The Biker laughed.
The Little Girl did too.
The teenager finally smiled.
The woman sat at the diner’s outdoor table.
Opened the sewing tin.
Chose thread.
The Little Girl watched every stitch.
The Biker returned to his abandoned coffee.
Cold.
He drank it anyway.
The teenager’s father stood beside him.
“Thank you.”
The Biker looked confused.
“For what?”
“For not hitting my kid.”
The Biker nearly choked on coffee.
“Was that expected?”
The father looked at the leather vest.
Tattooed arms.
Motorcycle.
Then seemed embarrassed.
“Apparently I make assumptions too.”
The Biker nodded.
“Everybody does.”
The father looked toward his son.
“He’s not bad.”
“I know.”
“He did something stupid.”
“I know.”
The father looked at him.
“How?”
The Biker shrugged.
“Bad kids usually don't look sick when they realize somebody might actually be hurt.”
The father was quiet.
The Biker continued:
“Doesn't mean he gets a pass.”
“No.”
“But if one careless thing turns into everybody deciding who he is forever, what’s the point of apologizing?”
The father nodded slowly.
“You have kids?”
The Biker looked toward the Little Girl.
“No.”
Then:
“Had a younger brother.”
The father heard the past tense.
Did not ask.
Good.
The grandmother finished repairing the bunny.
She used stronger thread.