The clerk nodded.
Lily grabbed Weston’s vest.
“No police.”
Weston looked down.
“Why not?”
“Daddy says police cost money.”
Weston almost smiled.
“I think your daddy meant tickets.”
She looked uncertain.
“This doesn’t cost money.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
He had no idea whether every part of that statement was technically true.
He did know a frightened six-year-old should not be deciding whether emergency help fit the family budget.
The clerk spoke rapidly to a dispatcher.
Weston asked Lily another question.
“Is your brother in the car?”
“Yes.”
“How old?”
“Seven months.”
That answer was specific.
Weston stood.
A baby.
Two adults who could not be awakened.
A barefoot child had walked into freezing darkness looking for formula.
He looked through the front windows.
The vehicle sat barely visible beyond the pumps.
Then a faint sound drifted across the parking lot.
Weston could not be sure he heard it.
He opened the door.
There it was again.
Thin.
Broken.
A baby crying.
Lily turned.
“That’s him.”
Weston stepped outside.
The clerk called after him.
“Dispatcher says units are coming.”
“How long?”
“Maybe eight minutes.”
Eight minutes.
Weston looked toward the vehicle.
He had no idea what condition the parents were in.
No idea whether there was a medical emergency.
Eight minutes might be perfectly fine.
Or it might be seven minutes too many.
He crouched beside Lily.
“I’m going to look at the car.”
“I’m coming.”
“I need you to stay in here.”
Her eyes widened.
“No.”
“Lily.”
“No!”
She grabbed him with both hands.
“Don’t leave me.”
Weston stopped.
Her panic was immediate and absolute.
He looked at the clerk.
The young man said, “I can watch her.”
Lily shook her head violently.
“No!”
Weston understood.
He had appeared ten minutes earlier.
He was still nearly a stranger.
But apparently he was the stranger she had selected.
That meant something.
“All right.”
He pulled the jacket tighter around her.
“You stay beside me.”
Lily nodded.
“Not ahead of me.”
She nodded again.
“If I tell you stop, you stop.”
“Yes.”
They moved toward the edge of the lights.
Weston carried the blanket and formula in one hand.
Lily held onto two fingers of his gloved left hand.
The baby cried again.
Then stopped.
That silence made Weston walk faster.
They reached the final pool of fluorescent light.
Beyond it, the lot became gray.
Weston could now identify the vehicle.
An older silver minivan.
Its headlights were off.
One rear door stood partly open.
“Is that your car?”
Lily nodded.
Weston started forward.
Then he heard a scrape.
He stopped.
Lily pressed against him.
Another sound came from beside the minivan.
A shoe dragging across gravel.
Weston’s body tightened automatically.
Years of bad roads, worse bars, and decisions he wished he could erase returned in a single instinctive second.
His shoulders squared.
He moved Lily behind him.
“Stay there.”
Something shifted.
A human figure rose from beside the minivan.
Tall.
Unsteady.
The figure remained motionless.
Weston could not see a face.
“Hey!”
No answer.
“Who’s there?”
The figure moved.
One slow step.
Then another.
Lily grabbed the back of Weston’s vest.
He lowered one hand toward hers.
“Stay with me.”
The shape came closer.
Weston could finally see a man.
Tall.
Thin.
Maybe thirty-five.
No jacket.
Blood on one side of his forehead.
He walked with one arm held awkwardly against his ribs.
Lily suddenly gasped.
“Daddy!”
Weston’s posture changed instantly.
The man lifted his head.
“Lily?”
His voice barely carried.
Lily tried running forward.
Weston caught her gently.
“Wait.”
The man stumbled.
Then fell to one knee.
Weston moved toward him.
“Easy.”
The man looked at Lily.
“What are you doing out here?”
She started crying.
“Baby hungry.”
The man’s face twisted with fear.
“Where’s your mother?”
“In car.”
His expression changed.
He tried standing.
Failed.
Weston caught him under one arm.
“Don’t move too fast.”
“My wife.”
“Emergency services are coming.”
“My wife is in the van.”
“I know.”
The man looked at Weston as if seeing him for the first time.
“Who are you?”
“Weston.”
“Where did Lily…”
“She came to the gas station.”
The father closed his eyes.
“Oh God.”
“What happened?”
The man struggled to speak.
“Van died.”
He breathed carefully.
“Phone had no service. I walked toward the highway.”
He touched his forehead.
“Slipped.”
“Were you unconscious?”
“I don’t know.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
His fear suddenly sharpened.
“My wife was awake when I left.”
Weston looked toward the van.
“Lily says she can’t wake her.”
The man went pale.
He tried standing again.
Weston held him.
“You’ll fall.”
“My wife.”
“I’ll check.”
Weston looked at Lily.
“Stay with your dad.”
The man shook his head.
“No. Take her with you. I can sit.”
Weston hesitated.
Then helped him against the side of the van.
Lily crouched beside her father.
Weston approached the open door.
A baby cried from inside.
Good.
Crying meant breathing.
Weston climbed halfway into the van.
A woman was slumped against the passenger side of the middle row.
She appeared to be in her early thirties.
A blanket was wrapped around her.
The baby sat secured in a rear-facing car seat behind her.
Weston spoke loudly.
“Ma’am?”
No response.
He touched her shoulder.
“Ma’am?”
Nothing.
He checked for breathing.
Yes.
But shallow.
Weston did not try moving her.
He stepped back outside.
“She's breathing.”
The father exhaled.