The playground gate opened outward.
The woman had knelt by the crying at the seesaw. The smaller one had not moved from the litter of pages.
The account took a minute and both hands: the corner, the notebook held out and shaken, the second syllable of never. The spine went from hand to hand.
The crying lost its words.
Whatever the woman said next was said kneeling, and quietly, and to the taller one.
The gate again, outward. Downhill the park went by at a run; the bag kept up.
At 6:41 the ferry was a length out and turning. The breath came back before it finished the turn.
The board above the pier gave the next crossing at 7:30.
The taxi rank stood at the top of the square. The bridge moved by car lengths; the meter kept its own pace.
At 8:37 one desk still had its light on. The screen behind it scrolled the 8:55 off the top while the agent typed. One flight went in the morning. The new itinerary came out of the printer warm: departure 4:15, arrival 6:04.
The difference went onto the same card.