“I don’t want you to panic.”

“I haven’t panicked yet,” I said, which was true, though the muscle that finds the wrong number was wide awake now and standing very still.

Across the table Zoe reached for the milk carton and knocked it over.

“Hold on,” I said.

Milk ran across the table toward the tablet, and I grabbed two napkins and pushed them against the spill, and for a moment the whole emergency of the morning was just a child’s spilled milk and a wet tablet.

“Monique, I’ll call you back.”