Still Life with Sierra • 19


on television when cameras film a death scene or a burial. I had no idea where my wailing came from—some primordial place deep inside. Te ambulance pulled up, and rescue workers rushed across


the yard, carrying equipment. I followed them, recognizing a man from my church. Tey told everyone to stand back. I wanted to see. I wanted to be there when my daughter opened her eyes. But they made me go away. I stood on the porch with Kathy’s mother and recited Te Lord’s Prayer. Over and over. Te rescue workers ran to the ambulance, carrying Sierra on a


gurney. I caught a glimpse of her as they rushed by and saw they had ripped her bathing suit half off. No, I couldn’t ride in the am- bulance, they said. So Kathy grabbed her keys, and we jumped into her car. Kathy’s mother said she would take care of Scott and Jas- per.


me.


Rusty took Peter in his car. My husband still hadn’t spoken to At a traffic light a mile down the road, Kathy stopped behind


the ambulance, and we waited for what seemed an extraordinarily long time. Te light changed from green to yellow to red over and over again while the ambulance remained motionless, its red lights splashing across our faces. “Do you think they’re working on her?” Kathy asked. I didn’t


answer. Behind us tired, sunburned beachgoers, en route home aſter a


day at the beach, began honking their horns. Anger rose up in my throat like bile. Didn’t they know my daughter was in that ambu- lance and paramedics were fighting to keep her alive? How could they honk their horns? Ten the ambulance started moving again, a little more slowly


it seemed. Kathy stopped for a red light at the next intersection, and the ambulance kept going. At the hospital, someone led Kathy and me into a small non-


descript room designed to provide privacy for people whose loved ones were somewhere in that nebulous place between life and


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