I got to the register. The total was $52. I’d miscalculated. My face went hot. There were people behind me in line. The cashier was waiting. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I need to put something back.”
I started going through the bags, trying to decide what we could live without. The bread maybe. We had half a loaf at home. But the diapers were almost out. The milk was gone. Anna was still crying. Ethan threw his dog again.
Then I heard a voice. Deep. Rough. “The bread stays. I got it.” I turned around and there he was. Six foot four. Covered in tattoos. Full beard down to his chest. Leather vest with patches. The kind of man who makes you grab your kids closer.
He was holding out a fifty-dollar bill to the cashier. “Her total and mine together. Keep the change.” I started to protest. “No, I can’t let you—”
“Already done,” he said. He wasn’t smiling. His face was hard. Serious. The cashier took the money. Bagged my groceries. Bagged his. He grabbed both sets of bags.
“I’ll help you to your car,” he said. It wasn’t a question. I should have been scared. I should have said no. But Anna had stopped crying. She was staring at him with big eyes. Ethan had stopped throwing his dog.
We walked to my car in silence. It’s a 2004 Honda Civic with a dent in the side and a missing hubcap. He loaded the groceries in my trunk without a word. Then he knelt down. Got at eye level with the twins in their stroller.
“You two need to be good for your mama,” he said softly. “She’s working real hard for you. You understand?” Anna nodded. Ethan stuck his thumb in his mouth. The biker stood up. Looked at me. His eyes were kind. Sad, almost.
“You’re doing a good job,” he said. “I can tell.” Then he walked away. Got on his motorcycle parked three spots over. A huge Harley that looked like it cost more than my car. He rode off.
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