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

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

“If my phone dies, I’ll lose access to the slide deck.”

I didn’t wait for him to finish looking.

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

The icy rain stung my cheeks as I walked quickly 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.