The blue thread on my wrist snapped as my arm flailed, the silver beads scattering across the dry stone like tiny drops of water.
The concrete under my cheek was cold, and the blue sky above the patio fence split into tiny, dark pieces.
“Daniel, pick her up,” Patricia whispered.
Her voice came from somewhere above the metal patio table, thin and dry like paper.
“We need to call an ambulance,” she said, her silver rosary beads clicking against her palm. “Before the Hendersons look over the wall.”
“No ambulance,” Daniel said.
He was breathing hard, his shadow falling across my face.
“We are bringing her inside first,” he said. “Help me with her legs.”
I tried to speak, but the air in my throat felt like dry sand.
