June crouched beside Nora.
She signed slowly, asking whether the backpack belonged to her.
The girl nodded immediately.
June pointed toward the bag and asked whether she could look inside for information.
Nora nodded again.
Inside was a tablet in a protective purple case.
There was also a laminated card attached to the backpack.
The card explained that Nora communicated using sign language, gestures, and an augmentative and alternative communication device.
It included a contact number for her father and two emergency contacts.
One belonged to her grandmother.
The other belonged to her aunt.
June looked relieved.
She showed the information to Eric.
He contacted the grandmother while another employee helped Nora retrieve her tablet.
The screen lit up.
A communication app displayed large picture symbols and words.
Nora touched one.
A small electronic voice said, “DADDY.”
Then she touched another.
“HOSPITAL.”
June nodded.
“Yes, sweetheart. Daddy is going to the hospital.”
Nora looked toward the entrance.
Then she touched the screen again.
“GO.”
June's eyes filled.
“We're going to help you get to your family.”
The girl pressed the same button.
“GO.”
I stood slowly.
My knees protested.
My shoulder hurt.
But none of that mattered.
I looked toward the paramedic who was preparing to leave.
“Can somebody tell me which hospital they're taking him to?”
He gave the destination to the appropriate adults handling the situation.
I nodded.
Then I looked toward Nora.
She was standing beside June, holding her tablet against her chest.
Her eyes were still wet.
I approached carefully.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
She looked up.
I lowered myself onto one knee again.
The movement hurt more this time.
She reached toward my vest.
For one brief moment, I thought she'd begin pulling at it frantically again.
Instead, she placed her little hand against one of the patches.
Then she looked into my eyes.
I had no idea what to say.
So I told her the truth.
“Your daddy has people helping him now.”
She watched my face.
I pointed toward the entrance.
“They're taking him somewhere with doctors.”
She looked toward June.
June repeated the explanation in signs.
Nora listened.
Then she looked back at me.
Her lips trembled.
She reached forward and wrapped both arms around my neck.
I froze.
I'd spent years being the kind of man children avoided.
Now a little girl I'd known for less than twenty minutes was holding me as though I belonged to her family.
I put one arm gently around her.
“It's okay to be scared,” I whispered.
She pressed her cheek against my vest.
I closed my eyes.
For a moment, I heard my own daughter's voice from years earlier.