Where the hell did you find this fucking therapist?
Where the hell did you find this fucking therapist?
Richard
I moved back, giving the paramedics the space they needed to help Violet. The dose of epinephrine they had given her was nothing short of a miracle, pulling her back from the edge and forcing her lungs to draw air again, even if each breath was a rough, strained sound. The swelling had transformed her neck and face, and her skin had taken on a frightening, paper-thin quality by the time they secured her to the gurney and moved her into the ambulance.
They did not allow anyone to accompany her. Before the vehicle’s doors were even closed, Michael was already maneuvering his truck out of the garage. I did not hesitate, sliding into the passenger seat immediately. In our rearview mirror, I saw Evelyn struggling with her car keys, and a fresh wave of fury rolled through me.
Why the fucking performance of concern now? She was the one who had practically poisoned her own child. Was she really going to race to the hospital and play the part of the devoted, anxious mother? I called the police department, and then I phoned the emergency room front desk directly to warn them that Violet might still be in danger from the person who had caused this.
A police car was already arriving as we parked. An officer I did not know, young and serious, met me in the waiting area. I laid out the entire situation for him, emphasizing the volatile history between Violet and her mother and stating my belief that Evelyn had intentionally contaminated her food with a known allergen.
Violet was behind a closed curtain in a trauma bay. The officer positioned himself by the door, his posture deceptively casual but his purpose absolute: no one except hospital staff was getting past him. The nurses permitted Michael and me to sit in the hallway just outside, but they directed Evelyn to remain in the main waiting room.
Sitting felt impossible. Every nerve in my body was alive, demanding action, to move, to pace, to do something, anything. But I knew I would only be a obstruction. The most useful thing I could do was stay the hell out of the way and let the medical team work. I watched them move with urgent purpose, calling out orders. A respiratory therapist hurried in, and in the moment the curtain was pushed aside, I caught a glimpse of Violet on the stretcher. An oxygen mask covered the lower half of her face, and her dress had been cut away to make room for a constellation of monitor pads and wires across her chest.
The sight was harrowing, but I registered one crucial detail: she was conscious. I saw her give a slow, deliberate nod in response to a question from a nurse.
Finally, an older doctor with a magnificent crown of steel-grey hair and eyes framed by gentle lines approached us. “Which one of you gentlemen performed CPR?”
I lifted my hand.
“Well, you likely saved that young woman’s life. It was an exceptionally close call. Miss Blair has given me permission to speak with you. She experienced anaphylactic shock—an extreme, system-wide reaction to an allergen. The paramedics gave her the first epinephrine injection, and we administered a second when she arrived. Her breathing has improved dramatically.”
“Can we see her?” Michael asked, his voice thick with worry.
“The nurses are assisting her with changing into a gown at the moment. We are going to admit her for the night to monitor for a biphasic reaction, where symptoms can return hours later. Given that her heart stopped, we also want to observe her cardiac function for a little while longer.”
I released a breath I felt like I had been holding for an hour. “Okay.”
The doctor gave a warm smile, handed Michael his card, and passed me an information sheet on severe allergic reactions before moving down the hall to his next patient.
“Holy shit,” Michael exhaled, dragging his hands down his face.
“That was the most fucking terrifying experience of my life,” I said, and that was a significant statement for a man who had watched his own mother die by inches.
“Thank God you were there.” Michael threw an arm around my shoulders and pulled me into a brief, hard embrace. He let out a shaky breath. “We came so close to losing her.”
I let the truth of those words settle deep into my bones. We almost lost her. I almost lost her.
About thirty minutes later, the curtain was drawn back and Violet was wheeled out on the stretcher. She looked incredibly small and fragile, her pallor so pronounced I could trace the delicate blue veins beneath her skin. Her hair was a dark cloud across the pillow, and several IV bags were suspended from a pole above her. The nurse pushing the bed offered a warm look.
“Give us about fifteen minutes to get her settled in room 230. You can come up then. You will need to use the main entrance and register as visitors.”
Violet attempted a smile for us, but it was a distorted expression on her still-swollen face and lips.
“We will see you in a few minutes, Princess,” Michael promised, lifting his hand in a small wave.
I took his arm and guided him toward the exit, which meant passing back through the main waiting area.
Evelyn was on her feet the moment she saw us. Her face was ashen. She gripped my arm with a hand that was all cold, thin bones, like the claw of a bird. “How is she? No one will tell me a thing.”
I pulled my arm from her grasp. “She is going to be okay. No thanks to you. They are admitting her overnight for observation.”
The relief that washed over her was too much for me to stomach. I needed her to comprehend the gravity of what she had done. “Her fucking heart stopped, Evelyn. You nearly killed your daughter.”
“I did not mean for this to happen! I swear it!” She ran her tongue over her dry, cracked lips. “It was the therapist, Ronald Dorsky. He is the one who gave me the recipe to use!”
“Where the hell did you find this fucking therapist?” Michael demanded, his voice a low growl of pure contempt.
“Your father!” she cried, her voice breaking. “Bennett is the one who gave me his name! He said he was the very best!”