Grace heard that and went still.
Not scared-still this time.
Listening-still.
The paramedic said it again.
“Your sister did a really good job.”
Grace began to cry then.
Real crying.
Messy, loud, unstoppable.
I wrapped my coat around her and guided her out of the pipe.
Her bare feet touched the frosted grass, and she flinched.
I lifted her before she could try to walk.
She weighed almost nothing.
At the top of the embankment, the man was handcuffed beside the guardrail.
He did not look at me.
He looked at Grace.
That was the only time I came close to losing my temper.
I turned my shoulder so she could not see him.
Mason came out on a backboard six minutes later.
He was wrapped in a thermal blanket that crinkled like foil.
Grace fought me until she could see his face.
“Masey,” she cried.
His eyes opened a little.
“Gracie?”
That was the moment the scene changed from rescue to something heavier.
Because rescue is not the end.
