The Children by Ann Leary Page B

can’t breathe.” I was kneeling next to her, trying to pull her hair back from her face, but she pushed me away.
    â€œHoney, I think you’re breathing too much,” Joan said.
    â€œWHAT? You want me … to stop … breathing?” Sally barked. She was coughing between words.
    â€œNo, you just need to slow down your breathing. You’re going to hyperventilate.”
    â€œShe’s suffocating, Joan, not hyperventilating.” I was crying now, too. “She can’t breathe!”
    â€œI’m calling an ambulance,” Joan said, starting for the kitchen.
    â€œJOAN! NO!” Sally staggered to her feet.
    â€œHoney, what if you suffocate?”
    â€œNo, Joan, I’m not going to the hospital. Don’t call.”
    â€œSweetie—”
    Sally took a few shaky steps. She was holding my hand. “I just need water.”
    â€œLet me call Everett,” Joan said.
    â€œWhat? No! I just need to rinse out my eyes. OH, THEY’RE BURNING,” Sally cried.
    â€œOkay, okay,” Joan said, “let’s go rinse out your eyes.”
    I led Sally to the kitchen sink. I tried to help her splash water on her eyes, but she pushed me away and stuck her entire face under the running water.
    Joan was tapping out a number on the phone.
    â€œSally,” I said, but she wasn’t listening.
    â€œSorry to wake you. Can you come over?” Joan was saying.
    Sally pulled her face from under the water. “JOAN! Who is that? I told you not to call the hospital!”
    â€œNo, sweetie, it’s Everett,” Joan said. Then into the phone: “Sally’s having trouble breathing.”
    â€œFuck,” Sally said, and put her face back under the cool water.
    â€œI know, but she doesn’t want me to call the ambulance.”
    â€œBecause I’m fine,” Sally barked into the sink.
    When Everett arrived a few minutes later, Joan and Sally and I were engaged in a sort of shoving match over the sink.
    â€œGet AWAY!” Sally said.
    â€œLet me just see your eyes,” said Joan.
    â€œLet go of her, Joan. Just let her go,” I said.
    â€œI just want to see if her eyes are red!”
    â€œHey, hey. What’s going on?” Everett asked. We stopped what we were doing and stared up at him. I saw him wince when he looked at Sally, so I looked at her, too. My sister’s eyes were swollen; her cheeks were striped with mascara. She was gasping and sobbing.
    â€œWhat happened?” he asked.
    Sally turned back to the sink and splashed more water on her face.
    â€œI sprayed her with hornet spray,” Joan said.
    â€œWhat? Why?” Everett asked, then added, “Did you call the ambulance?”
    â€œNo, no, no,” Sally said, turning to him now, wiping her face with her sleeve. “Don’t call them.”
    â€œShhhh, Sally, let me see,” Everett said. He put her face between his hands and gently tilted it up. I could see that the skin around her eyes was scarlet, making the irises—what little we could see of them—seem even more vividly blue than they usually were.
    She clutched the front of Everett’s T-shirt and said, sobbing, “I’m fine. My eyes are just—burning a little. I can’t go to the hospital. I won’t go. If you call the ambulance, I’ll send them away.” She coughed, and then said, “I’m fine. It was hard to breathe at first. I don’t need to go. Everett, listen to me, now. Nobody can make me go to the hospital without my consent.”
    â€œOkay, okay, Sal,” Everett said. “Just take it easy.”
    Sally pushed her face into his chest. She was a little hysterical. Joan gave me a look, the old there goes crazy Sally look. I glared at her.
    â€œDid you get any of the spray in your mouth, Sal?” Everett asked. “Because if your nose and throat are inflamed, you could have trouble breathing.”
    â€œNo, no,