“Because every time one of us walks near her, she looks like she’s about to run.”
The Biker Leader handed his tongs to the Vice President.
“Watch the grill.”
The Vice President looked across the yard.
“What happened?”
“Nothing yet.”
The Biker Leader walked toward table six.
He did not hurry.
He did not approach from behind.
The girl saw him coming.
Her shoulders tightened.
Her hands immediately closed around the pink backpack.
The Biker Leader stopped several feet away.
Then lowered himself onto one knee.
The bench still placed him almost at her eye level.
“Hey.”
The girl stared.
He pointed toward the plate.
“You don’t like barbecue chicken?”
No answer.
“That’s okay.”
He glanced toward the grill.
“I won’t tell the cook.”
The girl’s eyes moved toward the large grill.
Then back to him.
“You cooked it?”
“Part of it.”
She looked almost alarmed, as if she thought refusing his food had offended him.
The Biker Leader recognized that look.
“No trouble.”
He smiled faintly.
“You can hate it.”
“I don’t hate it.”
Her voice was so quiet he almost missed the words.
“Okay.”
He waited.
She said nothing else.
The Biker Leader nodded toward her backpack.
“I saw you packing some.”
The girl gripped the straps tighter.
Immediately defensive.
“I wasn’t stealing.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“I was gonna ask.”
“All right.”
“I was.”
“I believe you.”
That confused her.
He pointed toward the serving tables.
“You can take as much as you need.”
The girl stared.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Even if I don’t eat it here?”
“Yes.”
Her chin trembled slightly.
The Biker Leader’s stomach tightened.
Children did not usually become emotional over permission to take leftover chicken unless food meant something different to them.
He kept his voice casual.
“Who are you taking it to?”
The girl looked down.
The Nurse Biker had quietly moved closer.
The Vice President stood near the grill pretending to be busy while watching every movement.
At the surrounding tables, conversations continued.
For another few seconds.
Then the girl whispered.
“My brother.”
The Biker Leader nodded.
“How old is he?”
“Four.”
“Couldn’t come today?”
The girl shook her head.
“He’s sick.”
Something changed in the Nurse Biker’s expression.
The Biker Leader saw it.
“What kind of sick?”
The girl looked toward the gate.
“I don’t know.”
“Fever?”
She nodded.
“How long?”
The girl’s fingers squeezed the backpack straps.
“Since yesterday.”
The Nurse Biker stepped forward.
The little girl flinched.
The Biker Leader raised one hand subtly.
The Nurse Biker stopped.
He asked, “Is a grown-up with him?”
The child said nothing.
That was the answer.
The Biker Leader’s heartbeat changed.
“Sweetheart.”
The word came more gently.
“Who’s home with your brother?”
The girl looked directly at him.
“No one.”