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

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

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

“I don’t remember,” he muttered without looking at me.

“Maybe.

Check the front pocket under the flap.”

I laid June across my thighs, supporting her small neck with my arm, and pulled Ethan’s leather messenger bag onto the vinyl chair beside me.

The leather was scuffed at the corners and smelled of damp rain and coffee.