Then at the broken glass.
Without saying anything, he walked toward her.
The diner became completely silent.
Maya looked up.
For a moment, she was afraid.
The man's face was weathered and hard.
There were scars along his jaw.
His beard was streaked with gray.
A black motorcycle helmet hung from one hand.
He crouched.
"Where does it hurt?"
Maya wiped her face.
"My knee."
"Can you move it?"
"A little."
"Good."
He glanced at Mrs. Dalton.
"First-aid kit?"
"Behind the counter."
He nodded.
Then he looked back at Maya.
"I'm going to help you up."
"I can do it."
"I know."
He extended one enormous hand.
"But you don't have to."
Maya stared at it.
Then she took it.
His hand practically swallowed hers.
He pulled her gently to a nearby chair.
She sat down.
The biker walked to the counter.
Mrs. Dalton handed him the first-aid kit.
He opened it.
Then stopped.
There were no clean cloths.
Only tiny gauze pads.
He looked at Maya's knee.
The bleeding hadn't stopped.
Without hesitation, he reached behind his neck.
And pulled off his bandana.
It was old.
Faded red.
The corners were frayed.
There was a tiny stitched flower near one edge.
He folded it carefully.
Then knelt in front of Maya.
"This might sting."
She nodded.
He pressed the cloth against her wound.
Maya winced.
"Sorry."
"You don't look like a man who says sorry very often."
A faint smile appeared beneath his beard.
"Maybe I'm trying something new."
Maya laughed.
It was the first laugh she'd managed all day.
The biker noticed.
"Better."
"What?"
"That."
He nodded toward her face.
"Keep doing that."
Maya looked down at the bandana.
"This is really nice."
His hand froze.
"What?"
"The bandana."
He stared at it.
For the first time since he'd entered the diner, the hard expression disappeared from his face.
His eyes changed.
Almost instantly.
Like someone had opened a door into a room he had kept locked for years.
Maya noticed.
"I'm sorry."
He shook his head.
"No."
He looked at the red cloth.
"Don't be."
His name was Raymond Hale.
Most people called him Ray.