I reached out and smoothed a strand of hair off her forehead, and I was proud of how steady my hand was.

“Your tummy was exactly right,” I told her.

“You are the bravest, smartest girl I know, and you did the perfect thing.”

“Are you mad?” she whispered.

“Not even a little bit.

Not at you.

Never at you.” I stood, and I smoothed down my beach dress, and I pointed toward the pavilion.

“Now — why don’t you run and ask the nice man at the juice bar for a strawberry smoothie?