What’s keeping them?” Paul squeezed my hand. “It’s been less than five minutes, Hannah. They’ll be here soon.” Less than five minutes. It had seemed like hours since Paul punched 911 into his cell phone, then dragged me out onto the veranda of Paradiso by the arm, insisting that I get some fresh air. “Emily needs me—” I began. “Right now, I think she needs her husband more.” Just moments before, while Paul changed back into his street clothes, I’d persuaded my daughter to lie down on the massage table in Garnelle’s studio, where Garnelle had placed a cool, aromatic compress on her forehead. We’d left Dante sitting on a chair next to the table, stroking Emily’s hand. Every time she struggled to sit up, he’d gently force her to stay put. “I can’t believe this is happening, Paul. Emily knew I was working in the office! Puddle Ducks has a telephone. Why didn’t she call and ask me to watch Timmy for a few minutes?” Paul wrapped his arms around me, drew me close and rested his chin on the top of my head.
