Straddling her body, I press down on her chest. Again. My hands are slabs of meat, stupid and clumsy. Why didn’t I pay attention during mandatory first aid in swim class every summer growing up? Why was I so sure I’d never need to restart anyone’s heart?
With Ursa Major looking over one shoulder, and a great horned owl looking over the other, I try to coax a life back.
One, two, three palm presses to the sternum, and then I move to her face, tilt her chin up, pinch her nostrils shut, and blow two breaths into her mouth.
I ignore the broken glass under my shins. When I found her here, in this pile of leaf litter, I dropped to my knees and set the lantern down so quickly it fell over and a panel shattered. But the wick still burns, loaning me its stingy gleam while I repeat the process all over again.
Her ribs feel so fragile. I’m afraid I’ll break them.
Still no breath but mine.
How many cycles? I’ve lost count. The only thing I’m counting are the chest compressions and the breaths I loan her.
“Harper.” I’m crying, sobbing, choking. “Harper. I know it’s you in there. I was stupid to deny it. I’m sorry.”
I push down on her chest harder, desperate to feel her heart’s echo under my palms. I press harder and harder, not worried about her ribs anymore. Ribs can heal.
I can’t lose you again.
I have no choice but to keep trying.
Finally, finally, when I move to her side to lend her my breath, there’s a breath that meets mine. Just a small huff, but it’s warm and round and all hers.
I would start to cry, but I’m already crying.
My sister! You came back to me.
She opens her eyes, rolls to her side, throws up.
I never would have thought I’d be so happy to have vomit practically land in my lap.
“Harper!” I cry. “We’re gonna get out of here!”
On her back again, she wipes the corner of her mouth with her knuckles. I lay my forehead on her chest and a final flood of tears and sobs escapes me. “Harper, everything’s going to be okay now. Just rest.”
“Who are you?” she rasps. “And who’s Harper?”