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about ways to make my life more painful.
    Which is why I walked home alone. And why Carol invited me — without Dawn — to keep her company while she shops.
    Nice to know someone cares.
    So I am going maternity shopping.
    And I’m happy about it.
    ME.
    Who’d have ever thought?

4:34
    Bob.
    Bill.
    Bruce.
    WHAT’S HIS NAME?
    Blondish-brown hair. Curly. Square jaw. GREAT shoulders.
    I’ve seen him in school a million times out of the corner of my eye.
    I should have looked closer.
    Okay, he’s just past the dressing rooms. In the housewares section. Who’s he with? Probably some incredible-looking junior girlfriend.
    No.
    She’s old.
    His mom!
    It must be.
    There’s hope.
    Can’t let him see me in maternity. That is DEFINITELY the wrong impression.
    I’ll stroll around. I’ll pretend I’m looking for a blender.
    Carol is taking FOREVER in that dressing room. I wonder if she’d mind if I

5:24
    at [sic] the hospital
    I can barely think.
    My fingers are tired.
    My body is tired. I need sleep.
    But I feel terrible. I feel like it’s all my fault.
    I have to write this out.
    Everything happened so fast.
    I was such a fool. Sitting there, bored, worrying about what’s-his-name — Bo Something.
    Did it even occur to me why Carol might be taking so long?
    Maybe if I hadn’t been so distracted, I would have called to her and asked how she was doing.
    Maybe I would have heard her fall to the dressing room floor.
    Well, someone did. Some little old lady who began to shriek.
    I could see Carol’s hand sticking out from underneath the dressing room door. I tried to pull the door open, but it was locked. I yelled for help.
    The shrieking lady was sitting in a chair. Three people were helping her.
    But no one was helping me. A couple of shoppers were gawking, still holding their purchases.
    Like I was a TV screen.
    Finally I ran out and found a clerk.
    The two of us crawled under the door. Carol was almost out. Eyes flickering. Slumped on the floor.
    “Are you okay?” I asked.
    “I feel faint.” She was barely forming the words. Her voice was tiny.
    “Is it the baby?” I yelled. “Is it coming?”
    Carol shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
    “Don’t just stand there,” I said to the clerk. “Get some help.”
    The clerk looked horrified. “The manager’s on break,” she said.
    Useless.
    I ran out and made the nearest cashier call 911 for me on the store phone. I grabbed the receiver and told the operator what had happened.
    When I ran back, I had to elbow through a crowd. I heard someone say, “There’s the daughter.”
    I glanced around looking for Dawn, until I realized the person was talking about me.
    Carol was sitting up now, her back against the dressing room wall. She looked bone-white. The clerk was squatting by her side, holding her hand.
    I knelt down and put my arm around Carol. I asked the clerk to get her a glass of water. I practically barked at the crowd, telling them to make room. It was incredibly stuffy.
    “I feel weak,” Carol said. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
    “You’ll be okay,” I said.
    “I’m scared, Sunny.”
    I wasn’t. That’s the weird thing. I was thinking about what had to be done. In order of importance.
    1. Stay with Carol while we wait.
    2. Make sure she gets to the hospital.
    3. Call Mr. Schafer at work.
    4. Call Mrs. Bruen at home.
    The place was swarming now. Customers, clerks, security guards, crackling radios. Poor Carol.
    Like she really needed all this.
    I didn’t move from Carol’s side (step 1). I fed her sips of water. I borrowed a cell phone from one of the gawkers and did steps 3 and 4.
    It felt like we were there for hours. I was so relieved when the EMS crew showed up. They put Carol on a stretcher and carried her to a service elevator.
    I rode down with them, then followed them out a back entrance, where the ambulance was waiting.
    One technician asked if I was “kin.” Carol quickly answered yes. I guess she figured they