The balloons.
The princess cake.
The tables.
Then she smiled.
“He would've loved them.”
The girl looked down.
“Even the purple balloons?”
Her mother laughed through tears.
“Especially the purple balloons.”
The child smiled.
Then returned to her notebook.
The mother moved toward the refreshments table.
She had barely picked up a tray when she heard the community hall doors open.
Heavy footsteps crossed the floor.
Several guests turned.
Then the enormous biker appeared carrying the black case.
The laughter stopped.
The case looked far darker and stranger beneath the bright party decorations than it had in the workshop.
Its reinforced black exterior was nearly four feet long.
Its silver latches gleamed beneath the overhead lights.
And the way the biker held it made the shape seem even more unsettling.
One parent gasped.
Another stepped backward.
A woman near the cake whispered, “Is that a coffin?”
The mother turned.
For one terrible moment, she felt as though someone had struck her.
She had agreed to the birthday surprise.
She knew the chair was ready.
But she hadn't expected the equipment case to resemble something associated with death.
After spending eleven months helping her daughter survive the loss of her father, the sight overwhelmed her.
She hurried forward.
“Get that thing away from my daughter!”
The president stopped immediately.
He looked toward the case.
Then toward the frightened guests.
And finally understood what he'd failed to consider.
He lowered it carefully.
His face reddened.
“I'm sorry.”
The mother stared.
He continued.
“I should've brought it differently.”
The girl's voice came from behind her.
“Mommy?”
The mother turned.
Her daughter was watching.
The child didn't appear frightened of the biker.
She appeared fascinated by the little silver star.
She leaned forward.
“That's Daddy's star.”
The president lowered himself onto one knee.
For a moment, he couldn't speak.
Then he looked toward her mother.
“May I explain?”
The woman took a slow breath.
She looked at her daughter.
Then back at the biker.
Finally, she nodded.
The president turned toward the child.
“Sweetheart, we've brought something your dad started.”
The girl's eyes widened.
She looked toward the case.
“His chair?”
The biker nodded.
“Something connected with it.”
Her hands began trembling.
She stared at the silver star.
Then looked toward her mother.
“Can I see?”
The mother knelt beside her.
She gently touched her daughter's arm.
“You can. But if it feels like too much, we can wait.”