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daughter.
    Home. There it was. She ran into her yard and up the porch steps and flung open the door. Steve stood there with his cell phone still in his hands, mouth open. She didn’t even bother to say hello; she ran up the stairs. Steve followed close behind.
    And there was Donna, just as Steve had said. She looked vacant, like a shell—as if the spirit in her had fled.
    â€œDonna?” Sheila said, putting her hand to her forehead. Why? What a stupid thing to do. A simple gesture. A gesture concerned mothers everywhere make. But this was no flu.
    â€œSteve.” Sheila’s voice quivered. “Dial nine-one-one.”
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    Watching the medics work on her daughter, lifting her small body from her wet bed, felt surreal to Sheila. She had the presence of mind to answer all the questions they put to her. But later she couldn’t remember what her answers had been. As she stood by Donna’s hospital bed, looking over her daughter’s small body, she couldn’t help but remember the day she’d given birth to her, the way she’d felt the first time she held her. Please. I don’t want to lose her , she pled.
    Steve wrapped his arm around her as they listened to the slow, steady rhythm of the breathing machine—a precaution, to make sure Donna’s brain was getting enough oxygen. She had been lucid for a minute and looked at Sheila with fear in her eyes. “Mom?” she had whispered, falling back asleep before Sheila could answer. That had been unsettling and hopeful at the same time. Fear, at least was something, some emotion. Dusty, Gerty, and Jonathon sat and stood quiet in the room, standing watch, worried, teary-eyed.
    Finally the doctor walked in.
    â€œIt looks like Donna had an epileptic seizure,” he said.
    â€œEpilepsy? Now?”
    The doctor nodded. “It can set in anytime. Chances are she’s had mild seizures before and didn’t know it.”
    â€œHow could that be?” Steve asked.
    â€œIt’s the way epilepsy is sometimes, I’m sorry to say. But the good news is that she will recover from this and we’ll be able to medicate her to help ensure this won’t happen again.”
    Sheila finally exhaled.
    â€œIt may take a few days for her to come around, but she will,” he said. “It would help if we knew what caused it. It often appears that there is no cause. But other times . . . I know you’ve answered this. But are you certain she’d not doing drugs?”
    â€œAs certain as we can be,” Steve said. “Given that she’s in college and not living at home.”
    The doctor nodded. “I think this is a case of juvenile myoclonic epilepsy. Her EEG showed a generalized spike discharge. Sleep deprivation can cause it. Or alcohol withdrawals. Or any number of things.”
    â€œShe’s not been sleeping right,” Sheila said. “School has been a challenge for her.”
    The doctor nodded as Vera nearly slid into the room.
    â€œSheila! Sheila! Oh God, what’s happened?” Vera cried, as Sheila fell into her arms.

    Paige had just started teaching her second-period American History class when she received the text about Donna. She glanced at the clock—unfortunately it would have to wait until lunchtime. When lunch rolled around, she dialed Vera’s number because she didn’t want to disturb Sheila at the hospital.
    â€œThis number has been disconnected,” came the response. Paige looked at the screen of her phone and then at her the contacts. “Oh, bother,” she said to herself. She had pressed the wrong number for Vera—it was her landline. But why was the landline disconnected?
    She dialed the right number this time.
    â€œHi, Paige,” Vera said into the phone after only one ring.
    â€œWhat’s going on?”
    Vera filled her in. “The doctors say she’s going to be fine,” she said and sighed in relief.
    â€œHave