And grateful that a tiny boy had once walked up to a table full of frightening-looking bikers and decided they might be worth trusting.
After dinner, Tucker grew sleepy.
Angie helped him into his jacket.
Sarah's mother kissed his forehead.
Ron promised that the miniature motorcycle would receive a fresh coat of paint before the next charity event.
Tucker reminded him not to disconnect the horn.
Then the boy turned toward me.
“Bear?”
“Yeah?”
“Are we still a team?”
I knelt beside him.
“Always.”
He smiled.
Then he wrapped his arms around my neck.
I held him gently.
And as I closed my eyes, I remembered Sarah's letter.
If another kid is sick and doesn't have somebody to sit with, maybe you can sit with them.
I thought about the first time Tucker had hugged me.
The frightened little boy with seven dollars and forty cents.
The black monster drawn on a folded sheet of paper.
The promise I'd made without knowing how to keep it.
Now I understood.
The promise had never required me to defeat cancer with my fists.
It required me to become someone who stayed.
When Tucker stepped away, he looked at the small white star on his vest.
Then he touched it gently.
“Goodnight, Sarah,” he whispered.
I couldn't speak.
Angie reached for his hand.
They walked toward the door.
The little diner bell rang as they stepped outside.
I remained beside the table for a moment.
Ron approached.
“You all right, brother?”
I looked at the empty chair.
Then at the donation envelope in my hand.
I smiled.
“Yeah.”
He studied me.
“You sure?”
I nodded.
“For the first time in a long time.”
Ron placed a hand on my shoulder.
Then we walked outside together.
The evening air was cool.
Motorcycles stood beneath the parking-lot lights.
Angie was helping Tucker into his car seat, while Sarah's mother waited beside her.
The boy spotted us.
He lifted one small hand.
“Bye, Bear!”
I raised my arm.
“See you, boss!”
He smiled.
Then he pressed his palm against the window as Angie started the engine.
I stood watching the car disappear into the distance.
The road became quiet.
Above us, the first stars were appearing.
I reached inside my vest and removed Sarah's photograph.
Her bright blue eyes looked back at me.
The yellow dress.
The missing front tooth.
The stuffed rabbit.
I smiled through tears.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
The wind moved softly across the parking lot.
I looked toward the road where Tucker's car had disappeared.
“You were right.”
I touched the photograph.
“There was room for one more.”