How an Eight-Year-Old Girl Named Emily Reached Out for Help on Maplewood Drive

Same thing.”

“It’s not,” María said.

She nodded toward the glass.

“Were you bringing that up to her?”

“I was getting it for me.”

“At nine twenty in the evening.”

“I get thirsty at night.”

Thomas glanced at the cruiser again, then at the dark strip of yard between the houses, then back at María.