Margaret continued.
“He wants to meet you.”
I looked toward my leather vest.
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Then I whispered, “I'd like that.”
The following Thursday, I drove to the hospital.
I didn't take the motorcycle.
My knee was still bothering me from kneeling on the Walmart floor, and the weather forecast called for rain.
So I drove my old pickup.
I wore clean jeans, a black shirt, and the same leather vest.
The broken snap was still missing.
I carried a small paper bag.
Inside was a new notebook with thick graph paper, a set of colored pencils, and a little stuffed motorcycle.
I had no idea whether Nora would like them.
But I remembered the art supplies in her father's shopping cart.
And I wanted to bring something that respected the way she communicated.
When I reached the hospital, I stopped outside the entrance.
For several seconds, I simply sat in the truck.
I was nervous.
That surprised me.
I'd ridden motorcycles across dozens of states.
I'd spoken in front of hundreds of people at charity events.
I'd argued with men twice my size.
But meeting a six-year-old girl who'd trusted me during the worst moment of her life felt more intimidating than any of those things.
I looked at the paper bag.
Then at my vest.
Finally, I opened the truck door.
“Come on, Ray,” I muttered. “She's six.”
I walked inside.
Margaret met me near the elevators.
When she saw me, her eyes filled.
She stepped forward and hugged me before I could say a word.
I stood awkwardly for a moment.
Then hugged her back.
“Thank you for coming.”
“Of course.”
She pulled away.
Then studied my face.
“You look tired.”
I laughed.
“Everybody keeps telling me that.”
She smiled.
Then became serious.
“Daniel is doing better.”
That was the first time I heard her son's name.
Daniel Bennett.
Thirty-eight years old.
Single father.
Warehouse operations supervisor.
And a man who nearly died while shopping with his daughter.
Margaret explained that he'd been recovering after treatment for a blocked coronary artery. His doctors were discussing medications, rehabilitation, and the warning symptoms he needed to take seriously in the future.
He was weak.
Frightened.
And deeply shaken by how close he'd come to never seeing his daughter again.
But he was alive.
Margaret guided me toward his room.
Then stopped outside the door.
“There's something you should know.”
I looked at her.
She took a breath.
“Daniel feels guilty.”
I frowned.
“About what?”
She looked down.
“Nora noticed something was wrong before he collapsed.”
My stomach tightened.
Margaret continued.