“I can’t take that.”
“Why not?”
“It costs too much.”
“Actually, it was last year’s model. I negotiated.”
“I don’t need it.”
Frank leaned on the handlebars.
“Interesting. Six months ago, you apparently needed it badly enough to wash five thousand plates.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
Evan looked around the diner.
Everyone was watching now.
Customers.
Employees.
Monica.
Noah.
Lucy.
Me.
He seemed almost angry.
“Somebody else could use that money.”
Frank smiled.
“We knew you’d say that.”
He pointed toward the handlebars.
An envelope was taped there.
Evan opened it.
Inside was a card.
Dozens of people had signed it.
On the front, someone had written:
You taught us to look around and notice who needed help.
Inside:
Now notice this: sometimes the person allowed to receive kindness is you.
Evan read it twice.
Then he looked at me.
His eyes filled.
“I didn’t buy it,” I said.
“Who did?”
Frank shrugged.
“A lot of hands.”
Evan laughed through his tears.
Lucy ran over and wrapped both arms around his waist.
“You have to take it!”
“Why?”
“Because I want rides.”
