“I wasn’t grabbing her.”
“You were about to.”
“She’s taking food.”
The club president looked toward the girl.
Her breathing had become shallow.
Both arms were wrapped around the backpack.
The volunteer continued.
“She already hid something in there.”
The biker looked toward the food tables.
Then toward mountains of untouched food stacked in catering trays.
Then back at the volunteer.
“We’re feeding people.”
“Yes, but—”
“Is she a person?”
The volunteer sighed.
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know.”
The biker released his wrist.
“I’ll handle it.”
The volunteer looked embarrassed by the growing audience.
“Fine.”
He walked away.
The club president did not move closer to the child.
He lowered himself onto one knee several feet away.
That made him less intimidating.
A little.
“You okay?”
The girl nodded.
It was obviously false.
“What’s your name?”
She hesitated.
The biker did not repeat the question.
After several seconds she gave only her first name.
He did not ask for a last name.
“Okay.”
She stared at his beard.
Then the patch on his vest.
“You gonna call the police?”
“No.”
Her shoulders loosened slightly.
“You gonna make me give it back?”
“That depends.”
Her grip tightened again.
“On what?”
“Why you need two hamburgers bad enough to look terrified when somebody touches your backpack.”
She looked toward the apartment buildings.
The biker followed her eyes.
“Someone over there?”
She immediately looked back at him.
Too late.
He had his answer.
“My dad.”
The club president sat back on his heel.
“Your dad working today?”
She shook her head.
“Sick?”
Another pause.
“Hurt.”
The biker waited.
Children often filled silence if adults did not rush them.
The girl looked toward the ground.
“He got hurt at work.”
“How?”
“Roof.”
The biker’s expression changed.
“Fell?”
She nodded.
“How long ago?”
“Summer.”
“Is he home?”
“Yes.”
“Can he walk?”
“Some.”
“What are the burgers for?”
The girl touched the backpack.
“One is for tonight.”
She swallowed.
“The other’s for tomorrow.”
The biker’s voice softened.
“For him?”
“Yes.”
“What are you eating tomorrow?”
She shrugged.
That answer bothered him more than crying would have.
He looked toward her plate.
One chicken strip remained half-eaten.
“Did you eat lunch?”
She nodded.
He waited.
The girl’s eyes moved away.
“What?”
“Cereal.”