Sadie had finished the pancakes and was working on the bacon now.
“She’s not my mom. No one can be my mom. But she loves me. I can tell even when she’s too tired to show it.”
Outside the window, the fog was beginning to lift. Weak sunlight filtered through the gray, casting long shadows across the parking lot.
The school bus would be coming soon.
“Can I ask you something?” Sadie said.
“Sure.”
“Why aren’t people scared of me the way they’re scared of you?”
Garrett blinked at the question.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…”
She gestured vaguely at herself, at her worn clothes and tangled hair.
“People look at me like I’m nothing. Like I’m invisible. They don’t see me at all. But they see you. They’re scared of you.”
She tilted her head.
“Which is worse?”
It was such a profound question from such a small person that Garrett had to take a moment to consider it properly.
“I don’t know,” he admitted finally. “I think they’re both bad in different ways. Being invisible means people don’t think you matter. Being scary means people think you’re a monster.”
He paused.
“Neither one lets them see who you really are.”
Sadie nodded slowly.
“My mom used to say everyone’s fighting a battle you can’t see. She said that’s why you have to be kind to everyone, because you never know what they’re going through.”
“Your mom sounds like she was a special woman.”
“She was.”
Sadie’s eyes grew bright with unshed tears, but she blinked them back with practiced ease.
“She was the best. Sometimes I’m scared I’ll forget what she looked like, what her voice sounded like. Aunt Marlene doesn’t have many pictures, and we had to leave most of our stuff behind when…”
She stopped, shook her head, and took a long drink of orange juice.
“Anyway,” she said, her voice deliberately lighter. “I think you’re not scary at all. I think you’re sad and lonely and maybe a little tired, but not scary.”
“You might be the only person in this diner who thinks that.”
“Then they’re not looking hard enough.”
Sadie fixed him with a gaze that felt far too old for her years.
“Mrs. Patterson, my teacher, says you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. I think that means people, too.”
“Smart teacher.”
“She’s nice. The kids at school, they sometimes cross the street when they see people like you. People with motorcycles and tattoos.”
Sadie glanced out the window at Garrett’s Harley, chrome gleaming in the strengthening light.
“But I think that’s silly. Lots of people have tattoos. Uncle Danny had tattoos. It doesn’t make them bad.”
“No,” Garrett agreed. “It doesn’t.”
The bell over the door chimed as a few more customers trickled in for the morning rush.
They paused when they saw Garrett, went through the same dance of fear and avoidance, then found seats as far from his booth as possible.
Sadie watched them with a small frown.
“See?” she said. “They don’t even know you, but they’ve already decided who you are.”
“Most people make those kinds of decisions.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No, but it’s how the world works.”
Sadie considered this while she finished her bacon.
“I don’t think I want to be part of a world that works like that,” she said finally. “I think I want to be part of making it better.”
The yellow school bus appeared at the corner, rumbling up Telegraph Avenue with its lights flashing.
“That’s my bus.”
Sadie suddenly looked anxious.
She started to slide out of the booth, then stopped and reached into her pocket.
She pulled out the crumpled dollar bill.
“No,” Garrett said. “That’s yours. You keep it.”
“It’s not mine.”
Sadie set the dollar on the table between them, her small hand pressing it flat.
“It’s for your coffee. That way we both helped each other. It’s only fair.”