FOUND IN THE RAIN

The rain had been falling for seven hours. Emma knew this because she was counting. She counted things when she felt nervous— ceiling tiles, steps down the hall, hours of rain. Now the gutters were backed up, spilling water across the sidewalk in great sheets. Lily had discovered that if you ran fast enough through a puddle, the splash hit your knees. "I'm faster than lightning, Mommy!" Emma caught her by the back of her hoodie, and Lily's legs ran madly in place while she laughed. "You're wetter than a dishrag," Emma said, yanking the hood over her drenched curls. "That's what you are." Lily laughed. Hers was an open laugh. It stabbed Emma below the ribs—every time. Probably always would. Ahead, there was warm light in the big glass doors of the Whitmore Gallery. Emma shifted the tote bag on her shoulder and checked the time. She needed to be at the service entrance in four minutes. No babysitter tonight. She had said it would be fine, that Lily would sleep in the back corridor on the folded coat. They had done it before. She had said lots of things. "Stay close," Emma said, reaching out for Lily's hand. Lily ran in. Crystalline lights danced across silk dresses, servers moved with trays of champagne, and a string quartet played softly beneath important conversations. Emma burst through the service door a beat too late. She heard the sound before she saw it. A gasp. Then a vacuum of sound. Lily stood in the center of the room, eyes wide, hands by her sides. A sculpture on the ground was in three pieces. Champagne dripped off an overturned glass. Emma stood at Lily's side before she could think about it. "Are you hurt? Show me. Look at me." "I wanted to see the princesses," she whispered, her chin shaking. There were whispers around them. It felt like a pressure shift before rain. She heard a child, a security officer, who brings a— The crowd moved. A man came to the front. They moved without looking like they were moving, parting for him. He was tall, with black hair and an expensive-looking suit. His eyes were gray, and they were fixed on Lily, with a look that she didn't know. He crouched down a few feet away until he was on Lily's level. "Hi. I'm Alex," he said. "What's your name?" Lily considered him from behind Emma's arm. A long five-year-old deliberation. "I'm Lily." "Lily." His voice was soft, as if he were putting it somewhere safe. "That's a beautiful name." Her heart was doing something she couldn't name. She thought of the back hall five years ago. She thought of the scent of rain on concrete. She thought of a man who'd looked at her like she was the only person in a room full of people. "You never told me your name", she'd said to him, because that mattered. She remembered feeling that it did not matter at all. He raised his gaze at her. Something shifted on his face. "How long have I been looking?" he asked, his voice rough, like it had come a long way. Her mouth was dry. She couldn't speak. She wasn't sure he was asking her.