Jazz is coughing between great gulps of air. Her little hands are dug into me, her arms straining to hold me closer. I see nothing. I only know I have Jazz, and that she’s alive. The ambulance pulls up, and I hear the back door of the Emergency Response Vehicle open. But before the EMT gets his oxygen unloaded, I hear Rebecca screaming Jazz’s name. I look up and see her running down the street as hard as she can, her black hair streaming behind her. She bolts past the EMT and collapses beside us. “My baby. Oh God, my baby.” I release Jazz into her mother’s arms. She cradles her gently, rocking back and forth. Bec’s face is stained with tears. The EMT comes up from behind and puts his hand on her shoulder. Bec looks up, but she can’t let go. The EMT kneels down and covers Jazz’s face with an oxygen mask. Jazz looks frightened, but I squeeze her hand and nod. She relaxes, and the EMT listens to her heart and lungs, takes her blood pressure, and shines a stream of light into her eyes.
