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I swerve up and slam on my brakes behind the ambulance. I have to get in. Have to make sure my daughter’s safe. I haven’t even told Jake that I don’t want the DNR anymore.
What if I’m too late? What if everything Grandma Lucy told me was a lie?
I’m breathless. Breathless and dizzy and like I’m about to throw up. My legs can hardly support my weight. “Where’s Natalie?” I demand before my brain has the chance to focus on any of the faces I’m seeing. “I’m her mom. Where’s my daughter?”
“Everything’s fine.”
I don’t recognize the voice. I can only vaguely make out the man’s features. Why won’t someone tell me what they’ve done with my child?
“I’m her mom,” I repeat. Maybe I’m trying to remind God. I don’t know. Didn’t he just promise me through some eccentric old lady that Natalie would be fine?
Someone’s got their hand on my shoulder. They’re leading me to the baby seat in the living room. What’s that? Is it her? I scoop my baby up and clutch her to my chest. Why did I leave her alone for so long? What was I thinking?
My eyes still aren’t processing everything. It’s pixilated, like when your internet clogs up when you’re streaming a movie. I have to examine my daughter with my fingers to try to determine where she’s been injured since my eyes won’t focus.
You can’t do this God, I pray. You can’t tell me one minute she’s going to be healed and the next minute take her away from me like this.
“What happened?” I demand.
“Everything’s fine, ma’am.” My vision narrows in on a man with a stubby blonde beard. It says Captain on his name badge. Good. Someone I can trust. “Your husband was suctioning out your daughter, and he nicked the back of her throat with the Yankauer. It’s absolutely nothing to worry about.”
Nothing to worry about? Then why is there an ambulance parked in front of my house?
“She bled a little, so he gave us a call. He did the right thing, but it’s nothing serious. She’s got a scrape in the back of her throat. Might be uncomfortable for a little bit, but she’s perfectly healthy.”
Perfectly healthy? He’s a horrible liar.
I sink onto the couch, still holding my daughter. My mind is racing as the paramedics get ready to leave. It takes forever. Like back in Massachusetts when Sandy would invite thirty people over for Christmas Eve dinner, and from the time the guests started to say goodbye until we had the house back to ourselves again it could be two hours or longer.
Someone’s asking me about the car. Telling me to move it. I hand the keys to a man without a face. I don’t know if it’s Jake or not. I can’t take all this noise and motion. I can’t take all these strangers. I need them out of my house.
“Tiff? Tiff?”
My eyes barely manage to focus on my husband. I don’t know if I’m supposed to be mad at him or not.
He’s rubbing my shoulders. Gives Natalie a kiss on the top of her head. I can’t remember the last time he’s touched her.
“I’m sorry. I know I should have texted you, but she was bleeding, and I thought I’d punctured her windpipe or something, so I called the ambulance. I’m sorry to scare you like that.”
“It’s ok,” I answer before I know if I’m telling him the truth or not.
He plants another kiss on Natalie’s head and then one on my cheek.
“I’m just glad she’s ok. Know what I mean?” He’s scared too. I can hear it in his tone. I’m about to tell him it’s not his fault, but a grating, fingernails-on-chalkboard voice jumps in ahead of me.
“Of course, none of this would have ever happened if you hadn’t just run off without so much as a word about when you’d be back.”