The thud got Sam’s attention. “Eliza?” he called. When I didn’t answer, he came looking for me.
I heard his footsteps in the living room and then in the kitchen. I opened my mouth, but I still couldn’t breathe. Tears stung my eyes. It seemed like forever until he found me.
At first he was smirking, but then he saw me sitting on the floor at the bottom of the stairs with my legs straight out in front of me.
Sam knelt down and put a hand gently on my shoulder. “E, what happened?” he asked.
I tried inhaling again and this time, thankfully, I managed to squeeze some air into my lungs.
“Fell,” I told him.
“Down the stairs?” The color drained from Sam’s face. “Is anything broken?”
I didn’t like the panic in his voice and now that I had my breath back, I started to cry for real.
Sam squeezed my shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re okay,” he said. “Just tell me what hurts.”
I swallowed a sob. Only one thing really, really hurt.
“Don’t laugh,” I told him.
“I won’t laugh,” Sam said. “I swear.”
“My butt.”
Sam got a funny look on his face, but he didn’t laugh. “Should I call nine-one-one?”
I shook my head. I wanted Mom, but she was at work. “Get Dad,” I said.
But it turned out Dad wasn’t home yet. I’d only heard a truck rumbling by. Sam pulled out his cell phone and dialed. Dad insisted on talking to me himself.
“Are you okay?” he asked. He voice was tight.
“Yes,” I told him. “But can you please come home?”
“I’m already on my way.”
After I hung up and handed the phone back to Sam, I started crying again. “I need to blow my nose,” I said.
“I’ll get you some toilet paper.”
Sam came back a few seconds later. “Boy,” he said with a tiny tease in his voice. “You sure made a mess.”
He was right.