One father found his daughter and made a sound that didn’t need a language. A mother showed up with a blanket that smelled like lavender and summer laundry and wrapped it around a child who had borrowed a towel that smelled like July lakes. Nobody asked whose scent belonged where. For the next hour, everything belonged to everyone.
June knelt to Zoe’s height. “Okay, assistant lead,” she said with mock-seriousness. “New job. We need a headcount for the hall and a headcount for the firehouse. Two lists. You and Ms. Patel are the list captains. You delegate.”
Zoe straightened, taking the promotion. “We’ll make two lines,” she said to the cluster, projecting without shouting. “Blue blankets for the firehouse, green blankets for the hall. If you don’t have a blanket, you can be a captain of yourself.”
Liam, without asking, took off his knit cap and put it on May. “It’s your turn,” he said, matter-of-fact. May nodded like he’d handed her a crown she intended to wear responsibly.
