School Called Police On Biker Whom My Daughter Was Feeding Her Lunch Every Day

Thomas shook his head. “Sweetheart, I don’t think that’s a good idea anymore. People are scared of me. Your mom shouldn’t have to—”

“Would you like to have dinner with us instead?”

The words came out before I’d fully thought them through. But as soon as I said them, I knew they were right.

Thomas stared at me. “What?”

“Dinner. Tonight. At our house. Lily can show you her room and her drawings and tell you about her day properly. Not in a parking lot with people filming.”

“Ma’am, you don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to.” I looked at this broken old man who’d lost everyone he loved. “You’ve spent three weeks listening to my daughter’s stories. Now I’d like to hear yours. About Emma. About your wife. About your life. You shouldn’t be eating lunch alone on the side of the road.”

Lily threw her arms around Thomas’s neck. “Please come, Mr. Thomas! Please please please! I want you to meet my teddy bears!”

Thomas was crying again. Couldn’t speak. Just nodded.

That was eight months ago.

Thomas comes to dinner every Sunday now. He’s taught Lily how to check the oil in my car. How to plant tomatoes in the garden. How to whistle with two fingers.

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