I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
My voice comes out hollow and empty.
“You might have injuries we can’t see. Let me just check.”
I shake my head again. “I wasn’t here. I wasn’t in the fire.” They start loading Sarah up, trying to take her away from me, and I jump to my feet. “What are they doing with her?”
“Going to the hospital.”
I rush after them on wobbly legs. She can’t go by herself. “I want to go with her.”
I’m not leaving her again. This is all my fault.
“Hop in,” one of the people says.
I scramble into the back of the ambulance.
I’m pretty sure I’m still crying, but everything feels kind of numb and strange.
There’s a tube sticking out of Sarah’s mouth with a big bag attached that someone keeps squeezing. They’re pushing on her chest. Then stopping. Looking at a little box. There’s a flat line across it.
“Is she… Is she dead?” I sob. “Is my sister dead?”
“We’re doing everything we can,” the bag guy says, hands gripping and squeezing firmly.
He looks at the girl doing compressions, his eyes intense and focused. She shakes her head the tiniest bit.
I drop my head into my hands, breathing through my nose so I don’t throw up as the ambulance flies down the street, sirens blaring.
“Please be okay,” I whisper. “Please, please, please.”
I don’t usually pray. I’m not sure I believe in God, but I bow my head and close my eyes.Please help my sister. Please. Please let her be okay.
“Talk to her.”
I snap my head up, looking at the guy holding the bag attached to Sarah’s mouth. “What?”
He nods toward her. “Talk to her. She might hear you. It might help. Hold her hand.”
I reach out, cradling Sarah’s small hand in mine. It’s cold. She feels cold. “I’m here, Sarah. I’m sorry.” My tears spill over again, my words getting stuck in my throat. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there, but I’m here now.”
Sniffling, I wipe my eyes and nose with the back of my free hand. “Please wake up. If you wake up, I’ll take you to the movies. I’ll watch whatever you want—I promise.”
More tears drip over my lashes, catching on the corners of my lips. I can taste the salt. “I’ll buy you whatever candy you want. And a slushy.” My voice cracks. “I know you like slushies.”
I drop my forehead to her hand, sobbing. “Please, Sarah.”
I keep whispering the words over and over as we pull into the hospital.
“Your mom is on her way. Go sit in the waiting room, okay? We’ll have someone come out and sit with you,” Bag Guy says. Then they’re taking Sarah out of the ambulance and rushing her into the side doors of the emergency room.
Nobodycomestositwith me. But it doesn’t matter because I barely even know what’s going on. Mom comes in, and she cradles me to her chest as she cries.
I cry too. We cry and hold each other. I break down in her arms like a toddler. I sob against her chest until my stomach hurts and I can’t breathe through my nose.
We cry and cry until they take us to a room.
We sit on a couch, holding hands.
