Maybe he had spent so long accepting the image of the scary biker that he had forgotten other people did not know the man underneath.
He finished his meal.
When he walked outside, Lily and her mother were leaving.
Lily ran toward him.
“Bye!”
“Bye, Lily.”
She looked at the motorcycle.
“Don't take off the ribbon.”
Mason glanced at it.
“I won't.”
“Promise?”
He held up one hand.
“Promise.”
Lily smiled.
Then she and her mother walked away.
Mason watched them disappear into the parking lot.
He touched the ribbon.
It was cheap.
Simple.
Probably worth less than a dollar.
Yet somehow he felt reluctant to remove it.
He started the motorcycle.
The engine thundered.
Lily turned around.
She waved one final time.
Mason waved back.
Then he rode away.
He did not know that Lily's mother had been watching him too.
And she had recognized something he had not.
Her daughter had trusted him immediately.
Lily's full name was Lily Harper.
She was seven years old and had a habit of asking questions at the worst possible times.
Her mother, Sarah, had learned to live with it.
“Why is the sky blue?”
“Why do dogs smell everything?”
“Why can't we eat cake for breakfast?”
“Why does Grandma talk so loudly?”
“Why do adults say 'maybe' when they mean no?”
That last question had nearly caused Sarah to choke on her coffee.
But Lily's questions were not always funny.
Sometimes they were difficult.
Especially when she asked about her father.
Lily's father had been named Andrew.
He had been a firefighter.
Two years earlier, he had died while responding to a warehouse fire.
Lily remembered him.
She remembered his laugh.
She remembered how he lifted her onto his shoulders.
She remembered the smell of smoke on his jacket when he came home.
She remembered sitting on his motorcycle helmet even though he never allowed her to touch the actual motorcycle.
Most of all, she remembered something he had told her.
“Being brave doesn't mean you aren't scared.”
At seven years old, Lily did not completely understand.
But she remembered.
After Andrew died, Sarah tried to keep life normal.
She took Lily to school.
She worked.
She cooked.
She paid bills.
She smiled when necessary.
But some nights, after Lily fell asleep, Sarah sat alone in the kitchen and cried.
Lily knew.
Children always knew more than adults believed.
That was why she had started tying ribbons.
It began with a ribbon on Andrew's old jacket.
Then one on a tree near the park.
Then one around the handle of Lily's bicycle.
Sarah had once asked her why.
Lily answered:
“So things know they are loved.”
Sarah had hugged her.
Now there was a pink ribbon on a biker's motorcycle.
When Sarah picked Lily up from school the following day, Lily talked about Mason for nearly ten minutes.
“He has a giant motorcycle.”
“I know.”
“He has lots of badges.”
“Patches.”
“Badges.”
“Okay. Badges.”
“And a beard.”
“I noticed.”
“And he looks scary.”
Sarah smiled.
“But he's nice.”
“I'm glad.”
“He let me put the ribbon on his motorcycle.”
“Did you ask him first?”
Lily became quiet.
“No.”
Sarah sighed.
“Lily.”
“But he said it was okay.”
“After?”
“Yes.”
Sarah shook her head.
“You have to ask before touching other people's things.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
Lily looked out the car window.
After a moment she asked:
“Mom?”
“What?”
“Do you think Daddy would like him?”
Sarah's hands tightened slightly around the steering wheel.
“Who?”
“The biker.”
Sarah looked at her daughter.
“I don't know.”
“Daddy liked motorcycles.”
“He did.”
“He would've talked to him.”
“Probably.”
Lily smiled.
Then she became serious.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think Daddy is still lonely?”
Sarah's heart broke.
She pulled the car over.
She turned off the engine.
Then she reached across and hugged Lily.
“No, sweetheart.”
“How do you know?”
“Because…”
Sarah struggled for the right words.
“Because the people we love don't stop being part of us just because we can't see them.”
Lily nodded.
“Like the ribbon?”
Sarah looked at her.
“What do you mean?”
“I put the ribbon on the motorcycle so Daddy could see it.”
Sarah's eyes filled with tears.
She hugged her daughter tighter.
“You are such a strange little girl.”
Lily smiled.
“Daddy said I was special.”
“He was right.”
Three days later, Mason returned to Millie's Diner.
He had not planned to.
He was simply passing through town.
But when he saw the familiar sign, he remembered Lily.
He parked in the same spot.
The pink ribbon was still tied around the handlebar.
He had kept his promise.
As he entered the diner, Millie herself greeted him.
“You're back.”
Mason smiled.
“Good memory.”
“I own the place. I remember everybody.”
She pointed toward a booth.
“Coffee?”
“Please.”
He sat down.
A few minutes later, Lily came running inside.
“Mason!”
He turned.
“Hey.”
She stopped beside the table.
“You kept it!”
She pointed at the motorcycle through the window.
Mason smiled.
“I promised.”
She climbed onto the seat across from him.
Sarah entered behind her.
“Lily, don't bother him.”
“She isn't.”
Sarah smiled.
“Hello again.”
“Hi.”
Lily looked at Mason.
“Can I see your patches?”
Mason held out his vest.
She examined them one by one.
“This one?”
“That's from Colorado.”
“This?”
“Texas.”
“This?”
“Canada.”
“You went to Canada?”
“Twice.”
“Why?”
“Road trip.”
“Was it fun?”
“Very.”
Lily pointed at another patch.
“What does this one mean?”
Mason paused.
“That one's for my brother.”
Lily looked at him.
“What happened to him?”
Mason's expression changed.
“He died.”
Sarah immediately said:
“Lily.”