The girl nearest the counter shook her head. Her name was Nora. She spoke with the careful seriousness children use when they have repeated a warning to themselves all the way down a sidewalk.
“My sister is Violet,” she said, her voice small but steady. “Daddy said she would feel sleepy, but she says it hurts.”
Violet did not correct her. She lowered herself beside the counter, knees drawn up, both arms wrapped tightly around her middle.
Paul moved around the desk, but Nora immediately stepped between him and her twin.
“Don’t make her go home,” Nora whispered.
That single sentence changed the entire energy in the room.
Paul crouched far enough away not to crowd them. He kept his hands open, palms visible, and asked Nora to tell him exactly what had happened, without guessing and without using words anyone else had given her.
Nora looked down at her right sneaker.
