Chapter 76 - The Water Above the Door
Daniel interrupted Lena halfway through a sentence.
“Everybody needs to come outside.”
He stood in the classroom doorway with his phone in one hand.
Behind him, water was running down the wall.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then a ceiling tile dropped into the corridor.
The sound brought every adult to their feet.
Lena raised her voice.
“Leave your bags. Bring the children with you.”
I was helping Ruth at reception. By the time I reached the classroom, staff were directing families toward the exit.
A little boy had put both hands over his ears.
His uncle crouched beside him, speaking quietly.
I moved a chair out of their path.
Outside, rain blew beneath the entrance awning. People crowded together, counting children, calling partners, asking questions nobody could answer yet.
Ruth carried the attendance sheet.
Lena stood beside her.
Names.
Faces.
Responses.
I wanted to go back inside.
My coat was there.
So was my phone.
More importantly, I could still hear water.
Daniel caught my arm before I reached the door.
“Wait.”
“How bad?”
“I don’t know.”
The emergency crew arrived while Ruth was checking the final family against the sheet.
Everyone who had signed in was outside.
A staff member had already checked the toilets and adjoining rooms during the evacuation.
Daniel gave the responders what information he had.
Then he stepped back.
We watched strangers enter the building that so many people had helped make welcoming.
From the pavement, I could see a dark patch spreading across the ceiling near reception.
Lena came to stand beside me.
“The children?”
“All with their adults.”
“Staff?”
“Accounted for.”
She nodded.
Only then did I notice her hands shaking.
I took one.
She held mine hard enough to hurt.
The problem was eventually traced to a ruptured pipe above the corridor. Water had spread farther than anyone outside could judge.
The building would remain closed until the damage and affected systems had been assessed.
There would be no evening session.
No workshop the following morning.
No simple assurance that everything would be dry by Monday.
Ruth began helping people make arrangements.
One mother stood beside us staring at her phone.
“I changed my shift to come tonight.”
Lena turned toward her.
“I’m sorry.”
“What happens next week?”
“We’ll contact you as soon as we have a plan.”
The woman nodded, but her face did not relax.
A cancelled class was not the same disruption for everyone.
When the last family left, Daniel remained by the entrance.
He was looking toward the workshop windows.
“Jonah’s bench is underneath that section,” he said.
May you like
None of us answered.
The rain kept falling.
