She climbed onto the booth across from me.
Her pink raincoat made a soft rustling sound against the red vinyl seat.
She placed her yellow backpack beside her.
Then folded her hands on the table.
For a moment, she looked so serious that I nearly laughed.
She reminded me of my daughter at nine.
The same determined expression.
The same habit of arranging everything carefully before asking a question.
The truck driver who had grabbed her arm approached.
He looked embarrassed.
He held his cap in both hands.
"Sir, I owe you an apology."
I looked up.
He glanced toward the girl.
"And you too, little lady."
She studied him.
He cleared his throat.
"I thought you were hurting him."
She looked toward my vest.
"I wasn't."
The driver nodded.
"I know that now."
I watched him.
Then said, "You should've asked before grabbing her."
He lowered his head.
"You're right."
The girl looked at his enormous hands.
Then asked, "Are you going to be mad at me again?"
His face changed.
"No, ma'am."
He crouched slightly so he wasn't towering over her.
"I'm sorry I frightened you."
She considered.
Then nodded.
"Okay."
The man stepped away.
Several customers returned to their meals.
The waitress approached with two glasses of water.
She placed one in front of me.
Then looked toward the girl.
"Would you like something to drink?"
The child glanced toward the window.
I followed her eyes.
The elderly woman outside was still standing beside the old pickup.
She hadn't moved.
The girl looked back.
"Grandma said I shouldn't order anything until she comes in."
I nodded.
"That's a good rule."
The waitress smiled.
"Then I'll leave a menu."
She walked away.
I looked toward the child.
"Is that your grandmother outside?"
She nodded.
"Yes."
I hesitated.
"Does she know you're in here with me?"
The girl gave me a look that could only have come from my daughter.
"She drove me."
I laughed despite myself.
"Fair point."
Then I became serious.
"Can we ask her to come inside?"
The child looked toward the window.
For several seconds, she didn't answer.
Finally, she said, "She's nervous."
My stomach tightened.
"Of me?"
The girl nodded.
"She said you might get upset."
I looked down at the envelope.
My daughter's handwriting covered the front.
I could feel shame rising again.
The child watched me.
Then whispered, "Are you upset?"
I shook my head.
"Not with you."
She seemed relieved.
I continued.