Terrence put his hand on Henry’s shoulder.
“Henry,” he said. “Look at me.”
Henry looked at him.
“You didn’t bump it,” Terrence said. “You set the brake right. You did everything right. You were being careful. Like you always are.”
Henry stared at him.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Terrence said. “Not one thing.”
Then he turned around.
To Pamela Strand.
And her phone.
And her fourteen hundred viewers.
“Ma’am,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your name,” Terrence said. “For my report.”
Pamela hesitated.
“Pamela,” she said. “Pamela Strand.”
“Mrs. Strand,” Terrence said. “You asked this woman to come get me.”
He pointed at me.
“Yes,” Pamela said. “Because somebody had to.”
“And you asked her,” Terrence said, “to make sure I knew exactly what happened. Every detail.”
“Yes. Exactly.”
Terrence nodded slowly.
“She did,” he said.
He held out his hand.
Jade put the stack of printouts in it.
