Just direct.
Noah forgot the sentence he had rehearsed.
He glanced back.
Lily stood near the vending machines hugging herself.
The scar-faced biker followed his gaze.
Then looked at Noah again.
“You need something, kid?”
His voice was deep.
Not angry.
Noah swallowed.
“Sir…”
The word sounded stupid.
He tried again.
“Could we have your leftovers?”
Silence.
The diner did not completely stop.
But to Noah it felt like it did.
One biker lowered his coffee cup.
Another looked toward Lily.
Mara froze behind the counter.
The scar-faced man looked at his own plate.
Then at Noah.
“Leftovers?”
Noah nodded.
“For me and my sister.”
The biker leaned back.
“How old are you?”
“Twelve.”
“Her?”
“Seven.”
“Where are your parents?”
Noah’s throat tightened.
“Our dad’s coming.”
The biker stared.
Noah held the stare as long as he could.
Then looked away.
The man had seen the lie.
Noah knew it.
The biker placed his fork down.
“Leftovers are for dogs.”
Noah’s face burned.
Of course.
He had known this would happen.
He nodded once.
“Sorry.”
He turned.
Then the man said:
“Kid.”
Noah stopped.
The biker pushed his chair back.
For one terrifying second Noah thought he was angry.
The man stood.
He was enormous.
At least six-foot-three.
Maybe taller.
He stepped to the next table.
Grabbed two empty chairs.
Dragged them over.
The legs scraped loudly against the tile.
Then he pointed toward them.
“Pull up a chair.”
Noah stared.
The biker pushed his own plate toward the empty seat.
“You eat with us.”
Nobody laughed.
Nobody made a joke.
One of the bikers quietly moved his untouched fries toward the second chair.
Another slid over toast.
Another raised two fingers toward Mara.
“Two milks.”
Mara nodded quickly.
Lily had not moved.
The scar-faced man looked at her.
His voice softened.
“You too, little one.”
Lily looked at Noah.
Noah nodded.
She crossed the diner carefully.
When she reached him, she grabbed his arm.
The biker noticed.
He stepped back, giving them space.
Noah helped Lily into a chair.
He sat beside her.
His hands trembled.
Not from cold anymore.
The scar-faced biker returned to his seat.
“Eat.”
Noah looked at the plate.
Steak.
Fries.
Eggs.
Toast.
Too much.
“Thank you.”
“Eat before it gets cold.”
Noah picked up the fork.
Lily reached for a fry.
Then stopped.
She looked at him.
Permission.
Noah nodded.
She took it.
A biker across from her quietly pushed the ketchup closer.
Lily dipped the fry.
Took one bite.
Her eyes closed.
Noah had to look away.
Something about watching his sister eat after she had spent all morning saying she was fine almost broke him.
He cut the steak.
Lily ate fries.
The table gradually resumed talking.
Not normally.