Then at the ribbon.
Then back at her.
Something about the girl's expression made his chest tighten.
Before he could ask another question, the older woman hurried from the diner.
"Ellie!"
The girl's grandmother approached quickly.
"Ellie, come inside."
Ellie looked at Nathan one last time.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Then she followed her grandmother.
Nathan remained beside his motorcycle.
The ribbon fluttered in the evening wind.
For reasons he could not explain, his hands were trembling.
Ryan Brennan
Nathan stayed in Cedar Falls that night.
He told himself it was because darkness made the next stretch of highway dangerous.
He knew that wasn't true.
The ribbon bothered him.
More accurately, the little girl's words bothered him.
My daddy had one just like yours.
Nathan checked into a cheap motel and spent most of the night staring at the ceiling.
At six the next morning, he returned to Millie's Diner.
At 7:15, Ellie walked through the door holding her grandmother's hand.
Nathan's heart skipped.
The grandmother noticed him immediately.
Nathan waited until they had ordered breakfast before approaching.
"My name is Nathan Caldwell," he said. "I'm the man whose motorcycle Ellie put the ribbon on last night."
"I know."
Her voice was calm but guarded.
Nathan nodded toward Ellie.
"She said her father had a bike like mine."
The woman studied him.
Finally, she said:
"His name was Ryan."
Nathan froze.
"Ryan Brennan?"
The woman's expression changed.
"You knew him?"
Nathan searched his memory.
The name had been buried somewhere among hundreds of riders he had known over the years.
"Waterloo chapter?"
She nodded.
"Ryan rode with them for almost four years."
Nathan slowly sat down.
"What happened?"
The woman's fingers tightened around her coffee cup.
"My name is Margaret Brennan. Ryan was my son."
Ellie stopped eating.
Her small hand disappeared into the pocket of her yellow shirt.
She pulled out another pink ribbon.
"Daddy had one of these," she said.
Nathan looked at it.
"He called it his lucky ribbon," Ellie continued. "I tied it to his motorcycle before he rode."
Margaret touched her granddaughter's shoulder.
"That's enough, Ellie."
But the girl shook her head.
"It's okay."
She looked directly at Nathan.
"Daddy went to help people."
Margaret closed her eyes.
"He never came home."
Nathan felt the old pain of Highway 20 rise inside him.
"Tell me what happened."
Margaret took a breath.
"Two years ago, Ryan was riding in a charity convoy toward Dubuque. Forty-six motorcycles."
Nathan listened.
"A truck crossed the median."
Margaret's voice became quieter.
"Ryan saw it before the others did."
"He warned the riders behind him over the radio."
"And then..."
She stopped.
"He moved his motorcycle in front of the truck."
Nathan stared at her.