“What a pickle. Good job we’ve got plenty of beer in the shed. Be like the old days! They used to drink beer all the time, didn’t they, back in the old days…”

His words had started to fade. I felt sweat on my forehead, the taste of the horrid tea rising in the back of my throat. I felt dizzy, and placed a hand on Charley’s huddled form. So still.

“…you okay? You’ve gone awfully pale…”

I closed my eyes, tight, screwing my face up, then opened them wide. The light felt too bright.

“I’m fine, I just…”

But I wasn’t fine. My gut was roiling now, threatening mutiny, sweat all over my skin. I rubbed my hand over Charley, as much for my comfort as hers, and breathed deep, trying to get myself under control.

“…you feel sick? Sharon, fetch a bag…”

I was going to puke, that was clear now. I thought about standing up, actually started to put my weight on the hand that was resting on my daughter. I looked over at her then. Just a child-shaped lump under a blanket.

I stared at the lump, hand on her side.

It didn’t move. At all.

She wasn’t breathing.

9

The shock hit me like a physical thing. I shuddered, the feeling rippling down my spine. I grabbed a fistful of the blanket and yanked it, lurching to my feet as I did so.

It took me more effort than it should have done, and panic made me overcompensate, and her body spun as she fell off the couch. She hit the ground limp – no attempt to break her fall, no indication she’d known she was falling.

Her skin was so white. Almost translucent. I felt vomit rise in my throat again.

“Rob, what…?” It’s Pete.

“She’s not breathing.” Even as I said it, I fell to my knees, scooping her into my arms. I looked at her face as her head lolled back. She was still warm – too warm – but her eyes were shut, her neck slack. I felt terror rising then, threatening to overwhelm everything, but I forced it back down. I pulled her chin down.

The smell of vomit hit me immediately, making my eyes water, but I barely noticed. I turned her over so her head was facing the ground. I put my fingers into her mouth, clawing at the soft pulp I found there, shaking her as I did so, some half-assed heimlich. I scooped, went back in, scooped some more, fingerfuls of her stomach contents splattering onto the carpet. After the second scoop it started flowing on its own, I could feel it running past my fingers, pouring out of her. I put my hand back on her chin, holding her mouth open, feeling the warm fluid running over my fingers, my mind just repeating one word over and over again, breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe…