Mara bent her elbow and lowered her weight.

Her shoes scraped across the pavement.

The sedan’s tires made a short, harsh sound.

She caught the handle with her other hand.

The cart jolted.

Toby slid against the basket’s side, still crouched, still inside.

Mara’s right knee struck the ground.

For an instant, she thought she would lose the handle anyway.

But she held it.

The cart stopped.

A few feet beyond its front wheels, the gray sedan stopped too.

Neither moved.

The horn fell silent.

Mara stayed on one knee with both hands locked around the handle.

Her breathing came in short, uneven pulls.

She stared at the strip of empty pavement between the cart and the car, unable to accept what it meant.

There had been no impact.

No crash.

Toby was still in the basket.

His head rose slowly.

“Mara,” she whispered, though there was no one there who needed her name.

It was something she sometimes did when panic made her feel detached from herself: say her name, find her body, remember where she was.

Her knee hurt.

Her palms hurt.

Toby was looking at her.

She let out a sound that was almost a laugh and almost something else.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

He stood cautiously, then hesitated when the basket shifted beneath him.

“Wait. Wait, I’ve got you.”

This time, the words were true.

Daniel opened his door and stepped out.

He did not approach quickly.

Perhaps he could see that any sudden movement would be too much for both of them.

“Are you hurt?”

Mara shook her head automatically.

Then she looked down at her knee.

A dark scrape showed through a tear in her jeans.

“I don’t know.”

“All right,” he said. “Let’s get you out of the lane.”

He came around the cart and took a firm hold while she stood. Together, they moved it back from the road onto the level space beside the ramp.

Only when the cart was secure did Mara release the handle.

Her fingers resisted opening.

She stared at them as if they belonged to someone else.

Daniel waited.

Then he said, gently, “You can pick him up now.”

Mara reached into the basket.

Toby came into her arms with none of his usual squirming.

He pressed against her chest, his paws folded between them. His heart beat rapidly beneath her palm.

She held him close enough to feel each breath.

For several seconds, she could do nothing but count those breaths.

One.

Another.

Another.

He smelled of warm fur and the dry, dusty metal of the cart.

She put her face against his head.

“I’m sorry.”

The words came out broken.