He kept his hands loose by his sides.

“She’s eight years old,” Thomas said.

“She has nightmares.

She gets up, wanders the hall, goes back to bed.

It’s been a rough month for it.”

“Then you won’t mind if we check on her,” María said.

“I mind very much.” His voice stayed quiet, but its edges went hard.

“Two officers on my porch at nine at night over a bad dream.”