Chapter 3 - The Desperate Drive
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I didn't say another word. Arguing with them was like talking to a wall of solid ice.
I turned around and carried Emma out the front door into the chilly morning air. My vision was blurred with tears, and my hands were shaking so violently that I could barely open the car door.
I laid Emma down in her car seat in the back of my SUV. I clicked the seatbelt buckle into place once, unbuckled it, and fastened it a second time just to be absolutely sure it was locked.
The interior of the car smelled faintly of wax crayons and the sweet apple slices Emma had been eating the afternoon before.
I slammed the door, jumped into the driver's seat, and dialed 911 on speakerphone.
"911, what's your emergency?" the dispatcher's calm voice echoed through the speakers.
"My four-year-old daughter is unconscious!" I sobbed, backing the SUV out of the driveway so fast the tires screeched against the gravel. "She was hit in the face with a hot pan! She’s not waking up!"
"Ma'am, stay calm," the dispatcher instructed. "Is she breathing?"
"Yes, but her neck is limp! Her face is burned!"
As I pulled onto the main road, I looked in the rearview mirror. My mother was standing on the front porch of her house, holding my light autumn coat in her hand.
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She hadn't brought Emma’s shoes. She hadn't brought a blanket. She just stood there on the porch, watching me drive away as if I were the one who had committed a crime.
"Keep driving toward St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital," the dispatcher guided me. "I am alerting the pediatric trauma unit right now."
