And I remained standing outside Lou's Diner with a patch over my heart and the terrifying realization that somebody had just given me another chance to be trusted.
Not another chance to be my daughter's father.
That opportunity had ended five months earlier.
But a chance to become someone my granddaughter might someday remember with affection.
I knew how easily I could ruin it.
That frightened me more than anything I'd experienced on a motorcycle.
The next morning, I arrived at the grandmother's house at eight-fifty-five.
Not nine.
Five minutes early.
I parked my motorcycle beside the old pickup.
The house was small, with pale yellow siding, a narrow porch, and a garden filled with hardy desert plants.
A wind chime hung beside the door.
Through the front window, I could see a little girl sitting at the kitchen table.
She was looking toward a clock.
At exactly nine, I knocked.
The door opened almost immediately.
"YOU CAME!"
The girl stood in front of me wearing pink pajamas and fuzzy slippers.
Her hair was loose around her shoulders.
She looked as though she'd been waiting at the door all morning.
I smiled.
"I said I would."
She grinned.
Then stepped aside.
"Grandma made pancakes."
I looked toward the kitchen.
The older woman stood beside the stove.
She smiled faintly.
"Coffee?"
I nodded.
"Please."
The granddaughter took my hand.
Then led me toward the table.
For the next half hour, I sat in a kitchen that smelled of pancakes and fresh coffee while a little girl explained the rules of a card game I'd never heard of.
I lost three times.
She accused me of losing on purpose.
I told her I wasn't nearly clever enough to do that.
She laughed.
The grandmother watched us.
Then began clearing the dishes.
After breakfast, she asked the girl to work on a school project in the living room.
The child agreed reluctantly.
Before leaving, she pointed toward me.
"Don't go anywhere."
I smiled.
"I won't."
She looked toward the grandmother.
Then hurried away.
The older woman waited until the child was settled.
Then sat across from me.
Her expression became serious.
"I need to tell you some things."
I nodded.
"All right."
She folded her hands.
"Your daughter was a remarkable woman."
My eyes filled.
"I know."
The grandmother studied me.
"I'm not sure you do."
The words stung.
But I didn't argue.
She continued.