but . . .”
“I thought so,” I said. “Oh, Josh, I was with her when she died. Maybe that’s why I feel sick. Maybe I don’t have the same thing as everyone else. I can’t even tell.”
“Hey, we’ve got to get these guys to take a look at you. Like he said, get you to the hospital.”
“Marlee’s the one I’m worried about. She looks terrible. Not as bad as Francie was, but I’m scared that she’s—”
Josh held a finger to his lips. “Let the EMTs worry about her.”
“I have to see how she is,” I insisted.
When we entered the kitchen, I was relieved to find Marlee no worse than she’d been before. She was sitting at the table with Robin and Digger.
“Marlee, one of the EMTs will be here in a minute,” I said.
Robin spoke up. “I’m really queasy, too. I don’t feel right.” She was slumped in her seat and was idly fingering her drooping ponytail. “I can’t believe this. Is Francie really . . . ?”
Josh nodded. “Yes. Chloe was with her when she stopped breathing.”
“Oh, my God, Chloe! Are you all right? Come sit down here.” Robin pulled out another chair from the table.
“I’m okay.” I still felt weird, but I was too embarrassed to admit that I couldn’t tell whether I was sick or terrified.
Just as Josh opened his mouth to start arguing with me, the handsome EMT entered the kitchen in the company of a uniformed police officer, a large, muscular man with a neatly trimmed mustache. Before either of the men had a chance to say a word, Josh put a hand on my shoulder. “Chloe, you’re not okay.” Addressing the EMT, he said, “You need to take a look at her.”
I caught the EMT’s eye and gestured to Marlee. “I’ll be okay, but Marlee’s the one who really needs help.”
The police officer’s radio crackled loudly. He stepped to the far end of the kitchen and began muttering incomprehensible words. Interrupting the EMT, who was speaking softly to Marlee, he called out, “Where’d you get the food?”
“Natural High,” I answered. “The Natural High right near here.”
In an effort to be helpful, Josh began to give a detailed description of all the food we’d bought and all the dishes he’d prepared with such enthusiasm. I could hardly listen without crying for him. In the background, I heard heavy footsteps and the sound of the front door opening and closing. For a moment, everyone was quiet, as if we’d tacitly agreed to observe a moment of silence as Francie’s body was carried away. My head was spinning, and everything seemed to be simultaneously happening in slow motion and at warp speed. I couldn’t think clearly.
I don’t know whether the EMT responded to me, to someone else, or to the whole situation, but I clearly remember that he said, “Okay, let’s get you all to the emergency room.” I also remember that he let Nelson have it: “And turn off that camera!”
Until then, I’d all but forgotten Nelson’s existence. Wishful thinking?
“Man, look at it this way,” Nelson said. “I’m just doing my job. Pursuing my art, okay? I’m a filmmaker, and I’m not going to miss this. That’s what a documentary is about, right? Reality. Whatever happens. No matter what, you get it on film.” The glee in Nelson’s voice made me feel queasier than ever.
The cop was more effective than the EMT had been in getting Nelson to quit filming. Instead of giving Nelson an order, he did nothing but look at him, raise a hand, point his finger, and utter one word: “You!”
Nelson turned tail and vanished through the dining room.
The next thing that happened was that I stood up and . . . and . . . Well, what I definitely did not do was faint. For one thing, as a person who had completed a whole year of social work school and was thus a mental-health professional in training, I couldn’t possibly have passed out from anxiety. For another thing, although I’d been feeling sick to my stomach, I hadn’t lost any bodily fluids and thus couldn’t
“I thought so,” I said. “Oh, Josh, I was with her when she died. Maybe that’s why I feel sick. Maybe I don’t have the same thing as everyone else. I can’t even tell.”
“Hey, we’ve got to get these guys to take a look at you. Like he said, get you to the hospital.”
“Marlee’s the one I’m worried about. She looks terrible. Not as bad as Francie was, but I’m scared that she’s—”
Josh held a finger to his lips. “Let the EMTs worry about her.”
“I have to see how she is,” I insisted.
When we entered the kitchen, I was relieved to find Marlee no worse than she’d been before. She was sitting at the table with Robin and Digger.
“Marlee, one of the EMTs will be here in a minute,” I said.
Robin spoke up. “I’m really queasy, too. I don’t feel right.” She was slumped in her seat and was idly fingering her drooping ponytail. “I can’t believe this. Is Francie really . . . ?”
Josh nodded. “Yes. Chloe was with her when she stopped breathing.”
“Oh, my God, Chloe! Are you all right? Come sit down here.” Robin pulled out another chair from the table.
“I’m okay.” I still felt weird, but I was too embarrassed to admit that I couldn’t tell whether I was sick or terrified.
Just as Josh opened his mouth to start arguing with me, the handsome EMT entered the kitchen in the company of a uniformed police officer, a large, muscular man with a neatly trimmed mustache. Before either of the men had a chance to say a word, Josh put a hand on my shoulder. “Chloe, you’re not okay.” Addressing the EMT, he said, “You need to take a look at her.”
I caught the EMT’s eye and gestured to Marlee. “I’ll be okay, but Marlee’s the one who really needs help.”
The police officer’s radio crackled loudly. He stepped to the far end of the kitchen and began muttering incomprehensible words. Interrupting the EMT, who was speaking softly to Marlee, he called out, “Where’d you get the food?”
“Natural High,” I answered. “The Natural High right near here.”
In an effort to be helpful, Josh began to give a detailed description of all the food we’d bought and all the dishes he’d prepared with such enthusiasm. I could hardly listen without crying for him. In the background, I heard heavy footsteps and the sound of the front door opening and closing. For a moment, everyone was quiet, as if we’d tacitly agreed to observe a moment of silence as Francie’s body was carried away. My head was spinning, and everything seemed to be simultaneously happening in slow motion and at warp speed. I couldn’t think clearly.
I don’t know whether the EMT responded to me, to someone else, or to the whole situation, but I clearly remember that he said, “Okay, let’s get you all to the emergency room.” I also remember that he let Nelson have it: “And turn off that camera!”
Until then, I’d all but forgotten Nelson’s existence. Wishful thinking?
“Man, look at it this way,” Nelson said. “I’m just doing my job. Pursuing my art, okay? I’m a filmmaker, and I’m not going to miss this. That’s what a documentary is about, right? Reality. Whatever happens. No matter what, you get it on film.” The glee in Nelson’s voice made me feel queasier than ever.
The cop was more effective than the EMT had been in getting Nelson to quit filming. Instead of giving Nelson an order, he did nothing but look at him, raise a hand, point his finger, and utter one word: “You!”
Nelson turned tail and vanished through the dining room.
The next thing that happened was that I stood up and . . . and . . . Well, what I definitely did not do was faint. For one thing, as a person who had completed a whole year of social work school and was thus a mental-health professional in training, I couldn’t possibly have passed out from anxiety. For another thing, although I’d been feeling sick to my stomach, I hadn’t lost any bodily fluids and thus couldn’t
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