Carter
The room spins.
“Whoa!” Dad says, grabbing me under the arms and steering me toward a chair.
“Link,” Mom says, after sliding the phone out of my hands, “we’ll call you back a little later.”
“All right,” Lincoln says. “CT, you can call me whenever to talk! I’m here. You’re going to be okay! Love you!”
“Thanks, sweetie. Love you.” Mom hangs up, and now she and Dad are sitting on either side of me at the table.
Dad puts a hand on mine. “Do you want to say anything? Ask us any questions?”
I shake my head, even though I feel like all the blood flowing through my circulatory system has, in fact, been replaced by
questions.
“Here,” Mom says, pulling up something on her phone. “Watch this.”
Before I can protest, she’s holding up the screen, and there I am, talking to the camera, delivering a message to myself.