“Why don't you keep your money for now?”
His smile disappeared.
“But I gotta pay you.”
“No, buddy.”
He frowned.
“Mommy says people have to get paid when they work.”
I glanced toward his mother.
She was crying harder now.
I looked back at Tucker.
“That's usually true. But sometimes people help because they want to.”
He seemed unconvinced.
I smiled faintly.
“How about we make a different deal?”
“What deal?”
“You let us be on your team, and someday, when you're feeling stronger, you help somebody else who needs a friend.”
Tucker considered it.
Then he held out his tiny hand.
“Deal.”
I wrapped my enormous tattooed fingers around his.
His hand was so small that it nearly disappeared inside mine.
For a moment, I was holding Sarah's hand again.
I remembered the way her fingers felt after chemotherapy.
The way she squeezed mine whenever she was frightened.
The way she once told me that big hands were useful because they could hold more than one scared person at a time.
I had forgotten that conversation for years.
Now it returned so suddenly that I couldn't speak.
Tucker watched me.
Then he stepped forward and hugged my neck.
I froze.
I hadn't been hugged by a child in eight years.
His little arms barely reached around me.
His hospital bracelet brushed against my shoulder.
And he whispered, “Thank you, mister.”
I closed my eyes.
For a few seconds, the diner disappeared.
The motorcycles outside disappeared.
The smell of coffee and bacon disappeared.
All I could feel was a small, fragile child holding onto me because he believed I might help him.
I wrapped one arm gently around his back.
“You're welcome, little buddy.”
When he stepped away, I couldn't look at the other bikers.
I knew what I'd see.
Ron had turned toward the window.
The third biker was staring down at the table.
One of the men from the counter stood with his hands on his hips, blinking rapidly.
We'd ridden through thunderstorms, mechanical failures, and stretches of highway where one mistake could have killed us.
But five grown men were sitting in a Tulsa diner trying not to cry because a five-year-old boy had offered them his lunch money.
His mother finally approached.
She stopped beside Tucker and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Sweetheart, I told you not to bother these gentlemen.”
Tucker looked up at her.
“Mommy, they said yes!”
She looked confused.
“Yes to what?”
“They're gonna be on my team.”
The woman covered her mouth.
I stood slowly.
My knees complained.