“When did Daddy walk out that door?”
She pressed the rabbit harder against her ribs until her little knuckles went white.
“He said he’d be right back.”
I slid my arms under her shoulders and knees, lifted her light, frail body against my chest, and carried her straight through the archway into the kitchen.
At 1418 hours, I took my phone out of my uniform pocket, set it on the laminate counter beside the sink, and punched in three digits.
“Chesapeake emergency dispatch, what’s your location?”“Fourteen twenty-four Glenwood Drive,” I said, keeping my voice clipped and level.
“I have a four-year-old female with acute dehydration, lethargy, and fever.
Skin turgor is delayed and her pulse is thready.
Send an advanced life support unit immediately.”
“Is the child conscious and breathing?” the dispatcher asked.
“Conscious, shallow respirations, delayed response to verbal stimuli,” I said.
“I’m giving oral fluids now.”
