He Broke the Rules to Deliver a Father to Goodbye in Time

It was too broken to be a word.

Too grateful to be a sob.

He pressed her hand to his mouth and just stayed there.

I should have looked away.

Maybe I did, for a second.

I remember the bulletin board on the wall with cartoon stars and a paper moon.

I remember a wilted balloon in the corner that said GET WELL in bright letters cruel enough to count as a joke.

Mostly I remember feeling like every machine in that room was louder than it ought to be and not loud enough to cover what was happening.

Lila turned her face back toward me.

“Officer?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

That made the smallest smile touch one side of her mouth.

Kids like being called ma’am or sir when they are little.

It makes them feel taller.

“Did you use the loud thing?”

“The siren?”

She nodded.

“Yes.”

“With the spinny lights too?”

“Yes.”

“Did everybody move?”

I glanced at her father.

He had tears running off his chin onto the blanket and did not even seem to notice.

“They moved,” I said.

“Good.”

She shut her eyes for a second.

When she opened them again, she looked more tired.

Not sleepy.

Farther away.

“There was a train one time,” she said.

I looked at her father.

He swallowed.

“She hates the crossing by Willow Street,” he said quietly. “Says it takes forever.”