“What are you doing?” I asked, unhooking June’s car seat handle.

“Checking if I brought my wall charger,” he said, shuffling through printed papers inside the leather bag.

“If my phone battery dies, I will lose access to the slide deck.”

I did not wait for him to finish looking.

I unlatched June, wrapped her tightly in her fleece coat, and opened the door into the freezing night air.

The icy rain hit my cheeks as I walked briskly across the wet asphalt toward the sliding doors.

June tucked her head against my neck, her small fingers clutching the collar of my denim shirt with tiny, weak twitches.