Free Matters of Faith by Kristy Kiernan Page B

flat-out, balls-to-the-wall as Cal would say with a disapproving shake of his head whenever he saw some idiot speeding through a no-wake zone. The engine whined, and we all watched the mouth of the canal, waiting—helpless and fairly vibrating with adrenaline—for the boat to round the peninsula.
    Within seconds it roared into view, swinging a wide rooster tail as Marshall overcompensated for the speed and then straightening, flying at us, his face, hidden behind the windshield, just a smudge of white with hollows of dark sunglasses for eyes, like a skull with a shock of dark hair.
    We all moved at once: the paramedics poised themselves on the edge of the dock, gloves already on, the driver ran back to the ambulance, Cal readied himself with ropes, and I started my mouth again, talking about anaphylactic shock and the need, above everything else, for speed, for instant action, all the while aware that nothing had been instant because Meghan hadn’t been with me, and nobody else could possibly understand.
    But Marshall did, of course, Marshall understood. Meghan was his little sister; he’d been there for all of it. We’d shielded him, of course, to an extent, until we’d know what was wrong, how it could be prevented. But he knew everything now, he knew what to do, and he’d never have allowed anything to happen to her.
    And then the boat hit the dock, literally, hit it with the side of the bow, sending one paramedic nearly off the edge while the rest of us reeled and got our first glimpse of the horror show in the cockpit. Blood, everywhere, Ada keening gibberish, her eyes rolled back in her head, more blood on the seats, on Marshall and Ada, and on Meghan, dear God, Meghan.
    I started to scream then. Because there was no way that was my child, there was no way that my child, my girl, could have become that poor thing on that boat. I launched myself into the cockpit, pushing myself past Ada, who wouldn’t shut up, and past the paramedics, who had already shot Meghan full of epinephrine, and they fought with me, shouting to keep me back while trying to intubate her.
    Cal, done wrestling with ropes, pulled Ada unceremoniously off the boat, dragging her useless, bloody legs, and tossed her on the dock like a rag doll so he could get to me, and then he hauled me away, my hands reaching for the only recognizable part of my daughter, her hair, her long, dark hair, streaming across the dirty white mesh of the cushions.
    Cal held me from behind, and I sagged over his forearms while the men struggled with my unrecognizable daughter. Ada had crabbed her way off the dock and was huddled over her knees on the curb by the ambulance, with the driver patting her, as if she were the one who needed comfort. Ada was pushing her away, shaking her head.
    I straightened up quickly, startling Cal and smacking the back of my head into his chin when I realized that I hadn’t seen Marshall since laying eyes on Meghan. There he was, still in the cockpit, his back pressed against the dash as far as he could get, watching the paramedics work with his mouth agape.
    â€œMarshall!” I cried, pulling away from Cal, who held on for a moment while I struggled, but finally released me. I made my way on board at the bow and crawled over to the windshield to bang on it. He jumped and finally turned toward me.
    â€œWhat happened, Marshall, what happened?”
    He didn’t say anything, just shook his head at me, his mouth still slightly open, his eyes hidden by his sunglasses. The paramedics suddenly shifted and the boat rocked, making us both clutch for balance and breaking whatever tenuous contact we’d made. Cal, seeing that they were attempting to lift Meghan, jumped in the cockpit, and the three of them managed to get her out of the boat and on the stretcher. I scrambled my way off the boat and rushed with them to the ambulance, Cal right beside me, both of us talking to the unresponsive lump that used to