When I catch my breath, I hear the voice of the 911 dispatcher on the line. She’s trying to speak to me, asking me questions. I tell her that Lavinia is not breathing and beg her to send someone quickly.
“They’ll be there soon,” she promises, but every second counts.
She encourages me to continue performing CPR on Lavinia. I hate the sound of her voice. She sounds too calm while my friend is dying.
Unable to answer any more of her questions, I quit responding and focus on Lavinia.
Five minutes later, the doorbell rings, the sound merging with Jenna’s cries.
When the paramedics enter the house, I step aside so they can save Lavinia.
I clutch my hands together as I stand outside the door, watching them trying to bring her back.
I can’t take it anymore, so I move away and wander around the hallway. Jenna is still crying, but I can’t face her right now. I don’t know how to look her in the eyes knowing her mother is on the brink of death—or worse, dead already—and it’s my fault.
One paramedic, a woman with an Afro bun, approaches me. She asks if she can help me with anything and I ask her to get Jenna. I’m too scared to hold her when I’m shaking so much.
I follow them downstairs to the kitchen and get the bottle I prepared earlier. Only then do I trust myself to take the baby from the woman’s arms and sit with her on the couch to feed her.
The woman tries to talk to me, but I can’t hear her. I’m too focused on what’s going on upstairs.
What are her colleagues telling each other? Is it too late?
While I try to figure out exactly what happened, Jenna continues to suck furiously on her bottle as if she has been starved for days. She doesn’t even know what’s going on, that her mother could be dead.
“Tell me what happened,” the woman asks. This time I look up.
I tell her I came to see Lavinia as she was going through a hard time. I also tell her that she wasn’t herself, which is not surprising.
“What was she going through?” the woman asks.
Her question surprises me. I thought everyone in town knew about the murder. Surely, they must know that Jeffrey lived here.
“Personal stuff. She was pretty upset.” I stop myself from saying more. Telling a stranger about the murder feels like a betrayal to Lavinia. It might also affect how they treat her and her baby.
“Was she taking any kind of medication?”
“I don’t know.” I’m about to continue when her colleagues show up at the top of the stairs.
Without words, they tell me everything I need to know. The resigned looks on their faces are enough. Lavinia is gone.
“I’m sorry,” one man says when they reach the bottom of the stairs. “We did everything we could. We couldn’t bring her back.”
The female paramedic takes Jenna from my arms.
I struggle to my feet and approach the man who broke the bad news to me. “Please, try again,” I beg. “She’s not dead. She was tired, that’s all. She wanted to sleep. She can’t be dead. She has a little girl to raise.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “There’s nothing more we can do.”
When Lavinia’s body is brought down the stairs, I sink to the floor and drop to my knees. I catch my tears with my hands as I break apart.
I’m to blame for everything. I shouldn’t have put her in the tub.
“Did she drown?” I ask to be sure.
“Unfortunately, we’ll only know more once an autopsy is performed.”
I burst out crying again. Someone tries to comfort me. I don’t know who it is, but I push them away. I don’t deserve their kindness.
