I want to hug her, tight and long. So she knows I see the struggle, so she knows I know how creative and fun and thoughtful and loyal my sister Ruth truly is. I also want to tell her I’m trying to understand the best I can, and that things aren’t always easy for me either. A voice in my mind says, happy otters can get hurt too, and then I’m remembering the way otters hold each other’s hands and imagining what it must be like to be the person who takes care of the otters here at the aquarium, and all those thoughts make me want to grin, which totally doesn’t help my attempt to appear serious and understanding. Mature, like Ruth. Which, clearly, I’m not, or at least she doesn’t think I am.

I don’t say any of those things, though, because I’ve pushed enough for one day. Another blowup and I’d shrivel like a raisin, and besides, just being here with Ruth in the blue water lights, the way we’ve talked about things while silver fish bob around us … all of that turns this into a good day after all.

Ruth’s turned back toward the glass and the water. I spot Ned the turtle again, coming from up high, toward Ruth. I lift my camera as fast as I can. He’s almost in frame … Ruth’s about to look up at him …

The room rings with a high-pitched squeal. I stop my instinct to turn around and instead I keep my camera lifted, fiercely trying to get this one shot, but Ruth’s already walked away, out of frame.

I turn around and there’s a little girl, maybe four or five years old, with perfect blonde whale-spout pigtails. She sobs in hiccups and plops down in the middle of the floor.

By the time I’ve realized she’s probably lost her mom, Ruth is already kneeling at her side. I check around the room. Now that someone’s taking care of the crying child, most everybody is going back to their own groups.

“You wanna know something?” Ruth is saying. I tune in to their conversation. “Guess how much percent I promise we’ll find your mom and you’ll be okay?”

The girl hiccups again, but the sobs have stopped. She’s thinking hard about Ruth’s question. “Nine?” she says.

“One hundred,” says Ruth.

The girl’s eyes get wide. And Ruth smiles.

I click a few photos. Something feels like it’s happening here, so photos are my natural response.

“It’s going to be one hundred okay?” says the girl.

“Yep,” says Ruth. “And you know I’m right because I’m smart.”

The girl considers again. She’s practically chipper. “Yeah,” she says. “And you have blue hair.”