Robb read Tinka four stories until she fell asleep. Tucking her into her own bed for the first time, he was almost convinced that nothing happened in the park. However, he was determined to call his fathers boss, Tod McCade, first thing in the morning. Ask him to contact Richard. For all Richards old-fashioned ideas, he was his father and deserved a little understanding from his son. After these few days with Tinka, Robb's eyes were opened. He decided--kids are a horrible pain. Im never going to have any of my own.

Monday morning he woke up in bits, keeping his eyes half-shut against the bright sunlight filling his room. He'd had a good sleep. No memories of twisting in the sheets or of hard little heels tap dancing on every inch of his body. Hey, Tinka! he called, Wake up.

His watch showed nearly nine. Damn! The papers. Let's go, girl. Eat breakfast, get dressed, clean the kitchen.

He went into her room. Empty. Thick silence. Nothing from the TV downstairs. A weird, gut-twisting feeling made his voice weak. Tinka! he called, swiveling his head in all directions. Come on! Its time to eat breakfast.

Hurtling down the stairs three steps at a time, he raced through the first floor, calling. Tinka? Where the hell are you?

A lump of ice in his chest made it hard for him to breathe as he dashed back upstairs and searched the bathrooms, her room again. He looked under all the beds, behind the drapes. He even opened the attic door which he knew positively she could never open because it always stuck in the summer.

The dry heat sifting down and the slippery dust on the steps, lured him upward. He'd forgotten the tiny window in the attic that overlooked the back yard. He used to pretend he was piloting a plane from the window. Bending down, he looked out. He was so high up, the pool looked closer to the house than it really was.

At first he thought the blue thing crumpled on the cement deck was a towel that had been left there accidentally. Though he couldn't see what it was, every cell in his brain knew what it was.

Later, when he tried to recall getting from the attic to the pool, he couldn't. He did remember slamming out of the unopened back door and not feeling any pain. He also remembered someone screaming. It must have been him. Nobody else was around who could have.

She was on her back on the cement border of the pool, both arms flung out as if she were sleeping. Her blue nightie, except for a chunk dangling from the fence that ripped when she fell from it, was bunched around her waist.

Tinka, he whispered, blindly feeling for the keys. They were hanging right where they belonged. Relief zapped him like a charge of electricity. All the time he'd been searching for her, a mounting fear made him wonder if he'd left the gate in the fence around the pool unlocked.

Inserting the key, a quick twist opened the gate. In one leap he was beside Tinka. He knelt down, rearranged the ragged hem of the gown over her knees. He saw every rough spot of cement grating her soft skin. Her eyelids weren't fully closed but all he saw were two white slits. Her lips, red yesterday, were now pale gray. A thread of blood trailed out of the left corner of her mouth. He checked for a pulse under her ear, amazed that echoes of lifeguard training were still in his fingertips.

Tinka! he screamed. Then, thinking she sighed, he bent his head to capture a frail, warm breath. He finally located a pulse, but it was so weak he couldn't count it. Fighting against every instinct to pick her up and run, he looked for something to cover her. There was nothing. He was still in his undershorts. The house was so far away.

He had to get to a phone, yet he was scared to leave her alone. And, close by, he heard the pounding of a big drum. Leaping toward the house, he stumbled up the stone steps into the kitchen. While dialing the operator, he saw blood coming from his shin and the drumming sound was much louder.

May I help you? a female voice asked. He couldn't speak. Hello, hello! the voice continued.

There's been an accident at 501 Anthyn Circle. Please send an ambulance right away.

I'll give you the police department's number.

The operator's cool efficiency had swollen his hands into useless lumps unable to dial another number. Please, please, lady, he begged, trying to surmount a flood of tears. Please send someone to help my little sister. I think she's dead.