Luke looked at June; June looked at Doc; Doc looked at the captain. The captain arched a brow that meant of course you are. We didn’t invent the work; we’d simply learned how much of it can be shared.
By midmorning, sunlight had turned the wet street to a mirror that kept trying to return the sky to itself. The river ran lower and more honest. Volunteers ferried folks to the firehouse in pick-ups and minivans. The care center residents had formed a semicircle near the heaters and were telling each other stories they’d told a dozen times and would tell again because repetition is how we stitch up holes.
I stood under the flagpole and took a breath that didn’t have a number attached to it. The deputy star sticker in my pocket had warmed to the shape of my hand.
We got used to the next day. Then the next.
