Today, Barry turned eight. I wanted to make it special, but we don’t have any money.
I saved enough for a little diner dinner. Simple burgers and fries. His complaint was nonexistent. He never does.
I glanced at the dessert menu when the waitress asked if we wanted it, stomach knotting at the pricing. Barry noticed. He shook his head before I could respond. “I’m full,” he said immediately.
I knew he wasn’t.
The man at the adjacent table spoke out. Excuse me, ma’am.”
I looked up. The badge on his ranger outfit shone. It read J.M. Timmons.
He grinned. How about cake for the birthday boy?
Pride clashed with reality as I hesitated. Barry shocked us before I could respond.
Sir, no, thank you.” His speech was pleasant yet forceful.
An eyebrow lifted by Timmons. You sure, kid? Your birthday.”
Barry pressed his lips and nodded. I want to save the wish.”
Silence fell between us.
“The wish?” the ranger asked kindly.
Barry noticed me before looking down. “Last year, I wished for a bike,” he muttered. “Never got one.” He gulped. “I want to wait until I know it will happen this year.”
My heart broke in that modest diner.
Short silence from Timmons. Then he smiled. “Well, kid,” he stood, “I think I can help with that.”
Before I could respond, the ranger took out his wallet and placed a crisp bill on the table. “For cake. Whatever want comes with it.”
He shook his head when I protested. “My treat.”
Barry glanced up at me with unsure wide brown eyes. It’s okay, Mama?
Swallowed my dignity. Sometimes kindness should be accepted. I nodded. “It’s okay, baby.”
Standing close, the waitress washed her hands on her apron and smiled. “One chocolate cake coming up.”
Barry remained still as a candle lit the cake when it was presented to him. His small hands in his lap, he stared at it for a while.
Timmons knelt beside him. Go ahead, youngster. Wish for it.”
Barry closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and said before extinguishing the candle. I believed it was over when the small flame flickered and disappeared. Simple kindness from a stranger.
Then Timmons stood. “Please wait here if you two don’t mind.”
I frowned. “For what?”
He grins. “A little birthday surprise.”
While outside the diner 20 minutes later, we heard tires crunching on gravel. Another uniformed man emerged from a truck, pushing something.
A bike.
A glossy red bike with a ribbon on the handlebars.
Barry opened his mouth. He looked at me, wide-eyed. “Mama?”
Timmons laughed. It turns out, kid, wishes do come true.”
My throat tightened as I gazed. “But how?”
Timmons stroked his neck. I requested assistance. My station friend kept this. The donor wanted it to go to a decent home last month. It seemed fateful.”
Blinking hard, I tried not to cry. Officer, we can’t—
“Yes, you can,” he said kindly. I observed how your kid put you first and didn’t ask for more than you could provide. His good heart deserves nice things.”
Barry rushed ahead, hands over the handlebars like he was frightened to touch them. This is mine?
“All yours, kid.”
He faced me. “Can I ride it, Mama?”
I shakily laughed and nodded. “Go ahead, baby.”
He climbed aboard, wobbling, then pedaled, laughing as he circled the parking lot. Face of pure delight.
I faced Timmons. No words can express my gratitude.”
Shaking his head. “No thanks. Continue parenting him as you are.”
Barry called out, “Mama!” as he passed us. My wish came true!”
A tear fell from my cheek. “Yeah, baby,” I whispered. “It did.”
Barry stared at me sleepily as I put him to bed. “Mama?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Maybe next year, I’ll wish you something.”
Swallowing hard, I smoothed his hair. “You don’t have to, sweetheart.”
Yawned. Maybe I will.”
Sitting by his bed, listening to his calm, steady breathing, I knew something. Today went beyond compassion. Hope was involved. About trusting that good people are still willing to help in hard times.
Maybe wishes come true.
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