During Family Breakfast, My Sister Hurled a Hot Frying Pan at My Daughter
I followed the paramedics out through the screen door onto the concrete driveway.
The morning sun shone bright on the white paint of the ambulance, its back doors standing wide open.
My mother hurried along beside me, her leather flats scraping the pavement.
She reached out and caught the sleeve of my cardigan before I got to the rear bumper.
“Rachel, look at me,” my mother whispered, her voice quick and sharp over the rumble of the diesel engine.
“You know how much stress Vanessa’s been under with her house renovation.”