Chapter Thirty-Five #2
I nodded again. It seemed to be the only thing I could do. There were no words. Only fear. Only rising panic. My chest hurt. Oh, how it hurt. Like my ribs were curling inward, trying to squeeze my heart.
Putting an arm around me, he guided me back onto the path. As we passed the donut booth, he said, “Hey, Amy, we’ll meet you at the tent.”
She nodded and waved.
I kept looking upward, at the clouds sinking lower, lower, lower. Their mist swirled around me, darkening the edges of my vision.
I held on to Callum.
As we reached an open field, I spotted Katy and Mary Joy and Scott. “Katy’s cake,” I said.
Callum steered me toward their picnic table, where treats were laid out, cookies and brownies and the remnants of strawberry cake, along with a small pot of mashed peas for Mary Joy, half eaten.
She was in her father’s arms, clearly unhappy.
He was standing, bouncing and jostling, and she wasn’t having it, emitting pitiful cries as she tried to burrow into his chest.
I heard Scott saying in a soothing, gentle tone, “It’s okay, baby. Shh. Shh.”
Mary Joy started to wail.
Katy saw us and ran over. “Juliet! Mary Joy throwed up.”
Over the crying, Scott said, “She must not like peas.”
There was a giant splotch of green on his shirt.
People were starting to look, concerned about the screaming baby.
Katy looked terrified, her small hands pressed against her chest. The last time I’d seen her so frightened was right after the nightmare she’d had about her sister. At the thought, the hair rose on the back of my neck. Was it possible her dream had been a warning?
Since being in this town, I didn’t dismiss the notion. In fact, it made me pay closer attention.
I put a hand on her head, cupping it, pulling her closer. Trying to soothe her even while struggling to hold myself together.
“Mary Joy is tired,” I said to Scott. “Maybe push her in the stroller for a while? She might fall asleep.”
Mary Joy lifted her head at the sound of my voice and thrust her arms out toward me. She was at the point of crying when she was losing her breath every few seconds.
I gasped when I saw her face. It was flushed, her lips swollen. The rash around her mouth was back.
I summoned strength from somewhere deep within and took her from Scott. She clung to my shirt as I carefully lifted her chin. Welts covered her neck. I pulled up the hem of her dress. They were on her thighs, too.
I looked at Callum. “Please get Tallulah.” Then I noticed Katy’s face, her eyes round with fear. “Take Katy with you.”
He took her hand and they sprinted off.
“What did she eat?” I asked Scott, sitting down on the ground, afraid my legs might give out.
“Peas!” he said.
People were drifting closer, curious.
I shook my head. “She’s fine with peas. Did she have eggs?”
“No. Of course not. Tallulah told me about the suspected allergy.”
“No cake, no cookies, no nothing?” I asked. Accused, really.
He dragged a hand down his face. “No! The only sweet I let her have was some frosting. It’s strawberry. She loves strawberries. It’s buttercream. No eggs.”
I was wondering about cross-contamination when someone in the gathering crowd said, “If it was Swiss meringue buttercream, it’s made with egg whites.”
I recalled seeing the strawberry cake tent and the sign boasting the silky Swiss meringue. Oh no.
Mary Joy was still crying, but her body had gone limp. This was bad. Adrenaline took over. I laid her down on the ground. “She needs epinephrine.”
I barely noticed someone kneeling next to me until he said, “What’s going on?”
It was Jake, and there was a look in his eyes I’d never seen before. One that said he was used to being in charge.
I pulled out my phone. My hands were shaking as I dialed 9–1–1. “She’s having an allergic reaction.”
He quickly leaned over Mary Joy, humming and comforting as he checked her pulse, her skin. Then he lifted her legs, resting them on his thigh.
To get better blood flow to her heart, I realized.
It became crystal clear to me that he was medically trained.
When he gestured to the phone and said, “May I?” I recognized that in my current state, it was probably better he do the talking.
I passed the phone to him just as Scott bent down to pick up Mary Joy, saying, “This doesn’t concern you.”
Summoning a burst of strength, I shot an arm out, stopping him, feeling murderous. “It’s better she remains lying down.”
Then someone must’ve answered the call, because Jake started talking rapid fire, his voice loud, strong, clear, yet the words tumbled together in my mind.
Dr. Jake Gallagher, life squad, Flour Festival, near the large white tent, seven-month-old female, anaphylaxis, EpiPen, hurry.
Someone in the crowd rushed forward, a woman. I noticed she was shaking, too, as she held something out to me. “My toddler has a nut allergy.”
It was an EpiPen Jr.
I held her gaze for an extra beat. “Thank you.”
She nodded solemnly.
My hands were shaking so badly as I popped the lid off the pen that I hesitated.
Jake asked, “Do you want me to do it?”
I looked at my hands, at the way they trembled, and nodded. I handed the injector to him, and he passed me the phone to talk to the 9–1–1 operator.
Then he made a fist around the injector and said to Mary Joy, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” as he took tight hold of her leg to keep it still.
Then he forcefully jabbed the injector into her thigh.
Her pitiful crying stopped for a second as the pain registered; then she let out a scream.
He held the pen in place for what felt like eternity but was only ten seconds—he was counting them off quietly.
When he pulled the injector away, he rubbed the area on her leg, soothing, and picked her up, cradling her protectively in his arms.
He said, “She might need another dose once the paramedics get here, and will need to go to the hospital for monitoring.”
He was talking to Scott, I realized.
There were sirens in the distance.
At some point, I’d dropped the phone. I didn’t even know if the dispatcher was still on the line.
It had all happened so fast.
Shaking and woozy, I bent my knees, wrapped my arms around them, then lowered my head down, letting it rest on my forearms. My ribs were now squeezing my heart like an angry fist.
Something brushed against my ankle, startling me for a second before I realized it was a feather.
I looked up, searching for the robin. I spotted it flying overhead. It rose upward and upward until it disappeared into the clouds, and a tear rolled down my cheek because somehow I knew it would be the last time I’d see the bird. This was the end of our trip together.
It was the last thing I remembered before waking up in the back of an ambulance.