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been ready at all.
    Sylvia was on her now too, cradling her bare legs which were shaking and blanched white, as if the fall through the air had bleached the deep summer tan. Sylvia told her, “Hold on, sweetheart, that’s a girl.” She told her that Doctor Cooper had left for his office already, that they were going to carry her right on the mattress and take her over to Cooper’s in the back of somebody’s truck, which was parked just in front of the Town Hall and coming around for her now.
    Daphne looked away from her parents to the other worried faces hanging over her and then she looked up past the faces at the Christmas stars. She swallowed a mouthful of blood, and recognizing the warm, sour taste and knowing that you weren’t supposed to swallow your own blood she pushed herself up with her good arm and tried to spit, leaning over as far as she could to keep the mattress clean. Then the silence she hadn’t heard was broken by loud crying, girls crying, her friends, and turning again to spit, she said, “I’ve hurt myself.”
    Patrick pushed his parents aside and took one corner of the mattress firmly in both hands, watching the men on the other corners, lifting when he was told to lift. He told Daphne it was all right, meaning we’re all here. When she looked up directly at him, he said the worst of all the words he knew to comfort her. “Bugger it,” he said, just loud enough for her to understand before she blacked out.
    He was glad she’d blacked out. He knew it was better from playing hockey. What he didn’t know was why he’d ever let himself believe that one layer of mattresses would do any good. He was supposed to be learning stuff, he was supposed to be understanding things like the cross section of the earth in his geography textbook that showed miles and miles of strata down there, most of it rock. He tried to remember if Murray had told him one layer of mattresses or if he had decided one layer himself.
    Paul, whose feelings were usually written on his face in plain English for anyone to read, stood in his clown costume at terrified attention directly under the water tower. He was on his own and in a state but because Sylvia had meticulously reshaped his tight little mouth into a fat red smile his crying made no difference, no one came to him. He had been close enough to hear the bones break when his sister landed and he had seen her body go limp in their father’s arms, but he didn’t know how bad it was, what it meant, and no one thought to walk over to reassure him, to tell him that his sister had blacked out because of the pain, that it was a natural reaction and likely a blessing. He gulped at the air with his smile, working hard to get the extra air he needed.
    After the mattress was lifted, people stepped back so Bill and Sylvia could see Daphne safely out to the truck. Bill pulled Sylvia tight to his side, which made their progress more awkward than it would have been normally, if they’d walked separately. “She’ll be all right,” he told her. “There isn’t much that can’t be fixed now.” He tried to kiss the top of her head. “We’ll get this dealt with.”
    The men lifted Daphne up into the truck bed, and when the last of them jumped down to close and bolt the tailgate, Sylvia pulled her skirt up to her hips and crawled in after her. “She’s not going alone,” she said, turning to offer Bill a hand. She knelt and Bill crouched and finally the truck began to move. Daphne was still unconscious. “Did you hear what she said?” Sylvia asked. “She said, ‘I’ve hurt myself.’” Now that they were moving she was allowing herself the release of tears. “Something this bad happens and it’s still, I’ve hurt myself, it’s still, This must be my fault.”
    â€œIt’s just an expression,” Bill said, although he knew it was