Glass scattered over the photographs.One shard landed beside Rosie’s little white sandal.I stared at it.That tiny shoe.That was all I could see.My daughter had worn those sandals that morning while she danced in the kitchen because she had discovered that if she stomped her feet hard enough, the straps made a funny little clicking sound.Now one of them sat beside broken glass.“Call an ambulance!” Daniel shouted.“I am!” somebody yelled from downstairs.Finally.Someone was finally calling.I dropped to my knees beside Rosie.“Mommy’s here.”Her eyelashes didn’t move.“Mommy’s here, baby.”I pressed two fingers against her tiny neck.
There was something.A pulse.Weak.Too slow.But there.I nearly collapsed from relief.
Then I smelled it.Not the wine.Not the frosting.Something sweet and medicinal clung to her hair and pajamas.
Benadryl.I remembered what Natalie had said.Some Benadryl.I looked at my sister.