The guardsmen move on to repeat their announcements over and over to the hundreds upon hundreds of us spread out on the park’s lawns.

The last of the sun’s warmth is leaving as they walk away. As I wrap Kat in our one blanket and pull her close to me, a Chinese woman who is bedding down next to us with her husband and two sons offers me a quilt. She says something in her language and points to Kat and then to me. I think she is telling me she doesn’t want me to be without a blanket, either. I look over at her family and I see that the quilt is extra. I won’t be depriving her of warmth. I don’t know how to thank her. But she smiles at me as I take the blanket.

Minutes later the ground begins to rumble and tremble, and everyone in the park seems to hold their breath for a moment. But the quaking is only another aftershock that lasts just seconds.

“Are you warm enough, love?” I say to Kat, whispering it into her hair when the park is calm again. I have made the travel case my pillow. Kat is resting her head on my bosom.

She doesn’t answer me.

“You were a very brave girl today.” And she was. In so many ways.

We are quiet for a few minutes.

“What has happened today hasn’t changed anything, love,” I say. “I’m still taking you to your mama. It just might take us a few days or so. But I will. I promise. We’ll find Belinda and get her and the baby home, and then I’ll take you to her. You have my word. All right?”

She grants me the slightest nod against my chest.

Several more seconds pass and then she slowly raises her head, not to look at me but to look outward, toward the sickly orange sky to the east.

“Father?” she whispers tentatively.

My heart knocks against my ribs like a little bird hitting window glass. “He’s not here, love,” I say calmly, and then I wait to see if it is enough of an answer. I pray that it is.

But it is not.

“Where is he?”

I kiss her head and hug her tight as I eye the sky, forcing any shred of doubt or apprehension out of my voice. I want it to sound as true as true can sound. Because I could very well be telling her the absolute truth.

“I sent him on his way.”

17

Our sleep is afforded to us in snatches and spurts as all through the night those fleeing the fires continue to pour into the park. With them comes the latest news. Half of the very heart of the city is gone. Union Square, the Hotel St. Francis, all the little shops I had frequented in that part of downtown—all reduced to ash or to mere skeletons of their former selves. The fires are moving ever closer to Polk Street and the house.