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He glanced toward the ground. “That one broke.”

Indeed, a cracked limb lay on the grass.

“Okay. So we’re not using your original route.”

He sniffed again and wiped his face against his sleeve.

I pointed toward a thicker limb below his feet. “I need you to move your right foot down about six inches.”

“I can’t,” he whimpered.

“You don’t have to let go.”

“I’ll fall.”

“You won’t.”

“How do you know?”

Because I wouldn’t let him. Because every person below us would throw themselves under him before allowing him to hit the ground. Because being part of a pack meant there was almost always somebody standing under the tree, even when that person irritated you on most days.

I decided to keep the explanation simple.

“I’m going to put my hand around your ankle, then you’re going to move your foot until it touches the branch.”

Levi was breathing heavily now.

“Your mom is here,” I continued. “My mom is here. Caldwell is helping Uncle Dave hold the ladder. Nobody is going to let anything bad happen to you.”

His gaze moved toward Caldwell, who raised both thumbs. After another few seconds, Levi nodded.

I reached out carefully until my fingertips touched his shoe first, then closed around his ankle.

“There you go,” I said. “Move it slowly.”

He lowered his foot by an inch, stopped, then kept going until the sole reached the branch. “I found it.”

“Good. Put some weight on it.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I know, but do it anyway.”

He obeyed. The branch held.

Getting him down the rest of the way took a lot of coaxing and a promise that no one would tell his older sister he had cried. The promise was clearly unenforceable because his older sister was among the crowd, recording it on her phone, but the spirit of it helped.

Once Levi reached the ladder, I climbed down behind him, keeping one hand near his back. His mother grabbed him the moment his feet touched the ground. He buried his face against her shoulder, then became embarrassed by the hug and immediately claimed he had only climbed the tree to retrieve a kite.

There was no kite, but nobody mentioned that.

Caldwell came to stand beside me as the crowd dispersed. He slipped his hand into mine again. I looked down and found him studying the scrape across my forearm.

“It’s nothing,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Fine. It’s technically something, but it doesn’t require medical intervention.”