Mara let go of the water container before she chose an answer.
Her scraped palm had begun to sting beneath the dressing. The container’s handle left a pale stripe across her other hand. She wanted to lift it into the vehicle, send it to Luis, and call that the part of the day she had finally done correctly.
Marisol stood waiting.
“How much is your wash station short?” Mara asked.
“Enough that we’ve stopped cleaning the sleeping floor. The treatment basin first, then people’s hands. We can give you the actual count.”
Ruth came to the gate behind them.
“The water’s tested. The waiting hasn’t made more.”
Gideon set the next container down beside Mara’s. Nobody disputed the amount. The dispute was over which building got to say its need first.
