Then they put Clara on the phone.
« Sarah? Please come get me. »
I knew that voice before she finished saying my name.
I was 30, sitting at my kitchen island with my laptop open and a half-finished coffee beside me.
« Sarah? Please come get me. »
Now I was gripping the counter hard enough to hurt my fingers.
« I’m sorry, » I told the receptionist when she came back on the line. « Who exactly is sitting there? »
« Your sister, Clara. She had a filling done this morning, and she’s still a little groggy from the medication. Her phone died, but she knew your number. »
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