Page 101 of Never Forget
"Help her. Help her, please."
Cap was off the truck first. He had his hand on the father's shoulder before the man could lunge at the door again.
"Sir. Step back. Let us work."
I was already at the rear window.
A four-year-old girl was in a car seat behind the driver. Strapped in. Conscious. Her face was wet, her mouth hung open but no sound came out.
Four years old.
The thought landed before I could stop it, and with it came Rosie. Her hair still damp from the bath the last time I'd seen her. Her small weight against my chest when I'd carried her to bed. The way she said my name from the hallway in the morning before she was fully awake, already assuming I'd be there.
I knew what the calls had been before. I knew what they were now.
If that was my kid in this car seat.
I set my hand flat against the glass.
"Hey. Sweetheart. Hey. Look at me."
Her eyes found mine.
"I'm Sam. I'm a firefighter. I'm going to get you out of there, okay? I just need you to keep looking at me. Can you do that?"
A small nod.
"Good girl. What's your name?"
I read her moving lips, “Melissa.”
Her head moved when I saidMelissaafter a beat. I told her she was being brave. I told her I had a little girl her age who was going to want to hear all about her. I kept my hand on the glass and I kept her eyes on mine.
Tyler brought the spreaders. Sean ran a line on the engine compartment. Behind me the father was arguing with themedics about letting them treat him, and Cap was telling him, steady, that the best thing he could do for his daughter right now was sit down.
I pulled the punch from my pocket. “Turn away and close your eyes, Melissa.” She did. I hit the rear glass. The window dropped. I cleared it with my gloves.
I covered Melissa with a blanket, up over her head, and told her it was going to get loud and to keep her eyes closed until I said. Tyler worked the door and it came off in two bites. I leaned in and cut the harness and got my arms under her and lifted.
She put her face in my neck the moment I cleared her from the seat.
Her arms came up and locked around me like she'd done it a hundred times. Solid and warm. The exact size and weight of a four-year-old. My body remembered another four-year-old against my chest, and for a second I couldn't say whose kid I was carrying.
I carried her to her father.
They'd gotten him onto the stretcher. His right arm was in a sling and his forehead was bandaged and he was reaching for her with his good arm before I was halfway there.
I set her down against his chest, careful of the bad arm. She wrapped around him the way she'd clung to me.
"She's all I have," he said. He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at the top of his daughter's head. "She's all I have. Thank you. Thank you."
"She's okay. You're both okay. They're going to take you together."
He reached for my hand with the hand that was on his daughter's back. His fingers closed around mine. He held on.
I let him.
After a moment one of the medics touched my shoulder. I squeezed the father's hand once and stepped back.
