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“Dad, get her down flat!” I suggest, walking up but keeping a comfortable distance from the nightmare scene.
He stands and waves at me angrily.
I grab her feet and we lift her—and she’s just as light as I feared.
Her head rolls like she’s nothing but hollowed-out bone.
That’s when I notice the crap coming out of her mouth, something foamy, unnatural.
Oh my God.
I don’t know what a drug overdose looks like, but I have an awful feeling I might be staring at one now.
Dad hits the floor again, banging his knees loudly for the second time.
He throws himself back into another round of chest compressions, blinded by his tears, shaking her tiny body as he pounds her chest again and again.
I’m so busy gawking at the despair in front of me that I don’t see Chris until he’s a blur in front of me.
His footsteps hammer the floor as he runs in, pushing Dad aside without a word.
He takes over where my father left off, working with precision to save a woman he despises, eerie lines of calm engraved on his face.
Dad stumbles back and stares, his jaw clenched so hard it looks like his teeth might break as he staggers back.
“Hey, Dad, stay here. Let him help,” I whisper, holding his hand, trying to keep him away from crowding Chris while he plays hero.
Out of everyone here, he’s easily the most qualified to fix this.
“You sure you know what you’re doing, son?” Dad growls, his brow pulled low. “Where the hell are those paramedics?”
“Pulling up now, sir!” Thompson yells back, swinging the front door open.
Dad looks at me helplessly.
I give him my best sympathetic smile, trying to stay positive. I hate that I have to pray Evie hangs on for a love with my father I’ll never understand.
But I actually have no clue what happens next and it’s terrifying.
Chris doesn’t say a word.
He just works on his mother in stony silence, shirtless and brave. He’s more like a force of nature than a son who’s trying his damnedest to save his emotionally estranged mother.
Evie’s face is a white mask as the EMTs roll in, but she’s breathing.
I think.
I hope.
I swallow thickly.
Honestly, she’s downright ghostly, and her ankles look oddly swollen too.
If she lives, will she even be the same? How long can a person go without oxygen before it gets really dire?
“Dad? Why don’t you come with me. Let Chris talk to them,” I venture.
I try to guide him away, but his grip is so limp, so far gone, and his bulk is too heavy.
