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Report.
Record.
Preserve.
Document.
I kept repeating them inside my head because if I let myself feel everything at once, I would not be useful to Audrey.
While we waited, I took photographs of the bleach bottle, the basin, the rag, the hospital intake packet, and Audrey’s arms without making her look at the camera.
I placed Helen’s phone on the mantel where she could see it but not reach it.
I told my mother not to move.
She sat down.
For the first time in my life, she obeyed me.
The paramedics arrived twelve minutes later.
The front door opened to flashing lights and two calm voices asking where the patient was.
Audrey flinched when they approached.
One of them crouched low instead of standing over her.
“I’m not here to touch you without asking,” she said.
Audrey looked at me.
I nodded.
Only then did she let them examine her.
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