Chapter 2
The nurse who said "Hey!" wasn't angry. She was maybe twenty-five, scrubs with little stars, and she put a hand on the door frame to stop herself from running in. "We need space to check her, okay?" she said, softer now.
Mom didn't let go right away. I felt her hands loosen one finger at a time. Grandma stood back by the wall dispenser, her blue cardigan pulled tight around her. Her face was pale and she kept glancing at the floor.
"I'm her mother," Mom said. Her voice was thin. "I just got here. They called me from work."
The nurse nodded. "I know. We're glad you're here. Let's get her vitals again and look at those hands. Can you sit right there and hold her hand instead of her whole body? That way we can see."
Mom sat on the edge of the bed. The vinyl crackled. She took my right hand, careful around the paint, and her thumb brushed my wrist. The paint was orange and yellow near my knuckles and glitter stuck in it. I whimpered because her hand was warm and mine was cold.
Grandma finally spoke. "She fell into the craft cabinet. At home. I told her not to keep the glitter where Lily could reach it." She looked at Mom, not at me. "I was in the laundry room for two minutes."
The nurse crouched by the cabinet at the far wall. There was a small trail of glitter and what looked like tiny plastic beads and a broken cap on the tile near the plush toy. She didn't touch it. She stood and pressed a button on the wall.
"Housekeeping will want to see that, and the doctor will ask about it," she said. "Did she ingest any of it? Paint, glitter, glue?"
Mom looked at me. "Lily, baby, did you put anything in your mouth?"
I shook my head. My throat still hurt and I didn't want to talk. I remembered the taste was bitter on my lip but I hadn't swallowed. I buried my face in Mom's sleeve and the paint left another mark.
Grandma stepped forward. "I told the paramedic it was an accident. She reached. The bin tipped."
Mom's jaw tightened. "You said you locked it last week after the last spill."
"I thought I did," Grandma said, quiet.
A second nurse came with a plastic bag and a pair of gloves. Without making it scary, she scooped a little of the glitter and debris from the floor into the bag and sealed it. She set the plush toy on the cabinet, away from the mess. The yellow foot had a glitter speck on it.
The doctor knocked once and came in — a woman in a white coat with a badge that said Patel. She looked at my hands, at the bag, at Mom and Grandma.
"We'll clean her up, check skin irritation, make sure nothing was inhaled," she said. "And we need the exact product names for that paint and glitter."
Mom pulled out her phone with her free hand. Her fingers shook. "I have photos of the bottles at home. I can call my husband."
Grandma's eyes flicked to Mom. "He's on the highway, won't answer for an hour."
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Mom stared at the bag of glitter on the counter. For the first time since she ran in, she let her shoulders drop. She squeezed my hand.
"We're not leaving until we know what this is," she said, and Dr. Patel nodded and closed the door halfway.
