“Here.”
The mother stared at her.
A nurse standing nearby explained the rest in the fewest words possible.
The wheelbarrow.
The walk.
The emergency room.
The key.
By the time she finished, the mother’s hand was covering her mouth.
“You pushed them here?”
The girl nodded.
Then came the fear she had apparently
been carrying since the ambulance arrived.
“Are you mad?”
Her mother immediately shook her head.
“No.”
“I left the house.”
“I know.”
“You said I wasn’t supposed to.”
The mother’s expression tightened.
There are moments when a rule that once made perfect sense becomes completely useless in the face of something larger.
She reached for her daughter’s hand.
“You were supposed to get help if you were in danger.”
The girl looked at her carefully.
“We were?”
“Yes.”
“All of us?”
“All of you.”
The answer seemed to settle something that the child had not known how to ask.
Then she touched the key hanging against her sweatshirt.
