Rachel
“Rachel?”
I look up from my prosciutto sandwich to find an alarmed Trey looking down at me from the door of the break room.
Whether it’s at home or at work, I can’t seem to catch a break.
“What’s wrong?” I say, my mouth still full.
“Someone’s on the phone for you.”
Swallowing my bite in a hurry, I stand.
“Who is it?” I try to keep my voice calm, but an edge of panic still makes its way through.
A list of all the possible problems rushes through my mind all at once:
One of the boys got hurt at school.
Something’s wrong with one of Sophie’s kids.
Martine’s cancer has stopped responding to treatments.
Trey steps aside to let me through the door as I waltz past him. “Your sister, I think?” he manages to say while I pass by him.
Océane.
I freeze.
What could be wrong with Océane?
Shit, shit, shit.
I rush to the pharmacist’s counter, where the phone is on hold, and immediately grab it and press the button to push the call through.
“Océane? What’s wrong?”
“Rachel!” My heart stops upon hearing the panicked tone of her voice. “I need help.” She utters a small moan; she’s in pain.
“Where are you? What happened?”
“I’m at home. I was trying to put stuff on a shelf…” She cries out. “Rachel, I’m stuck.”
My blood goes cold. “Did it fall on you?”
“Yes. I can’t move.”
“I’m coming. Don’t move.”
I hang up the phone and see Sandrine, the other pharmacist on staff today, staring back at me with a worried look.
“I have to go,” I tell her in a clipped tone.
“Everything okay?” she asks while I’m already scrambling to find my coat.
“No. My sister’s hurt.”
“Shouldn’t she call an ambulance?”
