The heavy double doors of the brick school swung open, and children in wool caps and puffy coats spilled down the concrete steps.

I rested my hands on the steering wheel and watched the crowd break toward the crosswalk.

Lily came down the steps alone, a faded navy canvas backpack over one shoulder.

A narrow strip of red ribbon was looped around the three middle fingers of her right hand, twisting around her skin as she swung her arm.

She didn’t turn toward the buses.

She looked straight across the asphalt, saw my gray Buick, and walked right up to the passenger door.