Mia held the cocoa between both hands and stared into it. "She always has a plan."
"Then we'll make sure the people looking for her know where to start."
As Kelly continued taking details, Mia told Evan she was ten, that her mother's name was Claire Bennett, and that they had attended a dinner in Traverse City. She remembered a man named David speaking sharply to Claire near the restaurant entrance. She remembered the gray sedan, the wipers moving too fast, and the way Claire looked twice in the mirror while driving.
When Kelly asked whether the gray car had crashed, Mia shook her head. The movement brought tears down her cheeks. "It stopped," she said. "The man opened the door. Mommy was saying something. Then he told me to get out."
"Did you see where your mother went?" Kelly asked.
Mia pressed both hands over her ears. Evan moved the phone away. "We're going to stop there," he told the dispatcher. "She's cold, frightened, and trying hard to answer. Someone trained to speak with children needs to do the rest."
Kelly's voice softened. "Understood. Units are responding."
Evan glanced at the clock. Nearly thirty minutes had passed since the first call. "A bridge is closed. I heard that part. Can the state police come from the north side?"
"We're coordinating with them now."
"Please make it urgent." He looked at Mia, and his next words came quieter. "She has been alone too long already."
He phoned Mrs. Alvarez, the neighbor who watched Sophie when late recoveries ran longer than planned. She answered with television noise in the background and knew from his voice that something had happened. Evan explained just enough for her to understand why he could not come home.
"Sophie waited up," Mrs. Alvarez said. "She fell asleep on the couch with her book open."
"I promised I'd be back before ten."
"She'll understand."
"She shouldn't have to keep understanding."
There was a pause on the line. "Evan, you're keeping another parent's child alive tonight. Sophie knows what that means. Let me make her breakfast when she wakes."
He thanked her, sent Sophie a message saying he loved her, and placed the phone beside the cocoa. Mia was watching the office door rather than the screen.
"You have a little girl?"
"A big little girl," he said. "Twelve. She'd correct me if she heard the word little."
"What's her name?"
"Sophie."
"Is she waiting for you?"
"She's sleeping at home. A neighbor's with her."
Mia stared at the blanket on her knees. "You left her because of me."
"I didn't leave her because of you. I chose to help someone who needed it. Those aren't the same thing."
For the first time since the road, Mia looked as if she might believe an adult. She sipped the cocoa, made a face because it was too hot, and set it down. Evan went to the shelf for the first-aid kit and clean water. Her feet had shallow scratches from the gravel. He asked permission before helping her wash them and asked whether they hurt when she moved her toes.