Cass held Josie, unconscious, wrapped in a tablecloth. She knew that when someone’s been hurt, you’re supposed to wait for trained emergency people to arrive, to check for neck or spine injuries. But as soon as the tray fell, Cass had flung broken plates out of the way, scooped up Josie, and carried her to their car. “Your hands are cut,” Billy said. “Drive, Billy,” Cass said, intently watching the road, as if by concentrating she could get them there faster. T.J. sat silently in back, holding a handful of napkins against a deep cut on his forehead. Cass felt afraid to look down. Josie had so many cuts from shards of china, the white tablecloth was soaked with blood. Cass had lifted her from the floor as if she were a cloth doll. In the car, Cass held her in her arms like a baby, making her as small as possible, compressing her, and she realized that she believed every bone in Josie’s body was broken and she was trying to hold Josie together. “Bonnie was going to call ahead.
