She had dropped her pacifier somewhere in the car, and her whimpers were rising into sharp, breathless squeaks.

Ethan sat two chairs away from me, his elbow resting on his knee and his thumb pressed against his temple.

His leather messenger bag sat on the floor between his feet, the front brass buckle resting unlatched.

“Did you put the backup pacifier in your messenger bag before we left the house?” I asked.

“I do not remember,” he muttered without looking at me.

“Maybe.