“Make it redundant,” June said. “Redundant is our friend tonight.”
Ms. Patel had lost her folder, but she hadn’t lost her voice. It shook, yes, but she found a rhythm. “One at a time,” she told the children through the open window. “Hands to the window, eyes on me. We are going to say our names when we come out, so I can check you off. Ready?”
A girl with braids squeezed through to June, who wrapped her in, murmuring something I couldn’t hear. “Name?” Ms. Patel asked.
“Kayla,” the girl said, lip quivering but chin high.
“Kayla,” Ms. Patel repeated, like an anchor dropped in place. “You are safe. We have you.”
Kayla went down the human chain—June to Doc to a man in a soaked business suit to a college kid in a hoodie to a woman in scrubs and then to me. I held out one of the moving blankets from my truck; it smelled like cut cardboard and clean cotton. Kayla’s small body trembled against my forearms. I pulled the blanket around her shoulders and the shivering eased.
