Chapter 4

I tore the injector from Margaret’s hand and drove it into Eli’s thigh.

The click sounded too small for something meant to save a life.

Eli jerked in my arms, but no cry came out. I held the injector against his jeans and counted, forcing each number through my teeth.

Margaret stumbled backward into the table. The cupcake hit the floor, smearing white frosting across the tile.

I dropped the empty injector and called 911.

“My eight-year-old son is having anaphylaxis,” I told the dispatcher. “Severe peanut allergy. He can’t breathe. I gave him epinephrine.”

I gave her the address and put the phone on speaker.

Margaret stood over us, wringing her hands.

“I didn’t know,” she whispered. “The bakery woman said it was safe. I only wanted to give him a treat.”

I ignored her.

Eli’s fingers twisted into my blouse. His breaths still came in thin, rough whistles, but he was pulling in a little more air.

“Am I going to die?” he rasped.

The question cut through me.

“No.” I held his face between my hands. “I’m right here, and help is coming.”

My voice stayed steady.

Everything else in me was shaking.

Margaret crouched beside us. “Eli, sweetheart—”

“Stay back.”

She froze.

For once, I didn’t soften the words to protect her feelings.

The sirens began as a faint wail in the distance. Eli pressed his face against my shoulder while they grew louder.

Two paramedics rushed through the open door with an oxygen bag and a stretcher.

I told them what he had eaten, when I found him and when I gave the injection. One fitted an oxygen mask over Eli’s face while the other checked his pulse.

“How long after the symptoms started was the epinephrine given?” he asked.

I looked at Margaret.

She stared at the ruined cupcake on the floor.

“I don’t know,” she said.

Cold spread through my stomach.

If I had arrived five minutes later, she might still have been waiting for James to answer his phone.

The paramedic looked at me. “Giving it immediately was the right call.”

They lifted Eli onto the stretcher.

Margaret reached for her purse. “I’m coming.”

“No. Call James.”

“Anna, please—”

“Call your son.”

I climbed into the ambulance beside Eli, and the doors closed between us.

At the hospital, the sharp smell of disinfectant replaced the sweetness of Margaret’s kitchen. A monitor beeped beside Eli’s bed while clear tubing ran from his arm.

His breathing had eased, but his face was pale beneath the red patches.

The doctor said he was stable. They would keep him for observation because the symptoms could return.

“With a severe reaction, epinephrine should be given immediately,” she said. “Do not wait to see if it improves.”

I nodded.

Only when she left did I notice the frosting on my knee and the deep wrinkles where Eli had gripped my blouse.

James arrived twenty minutes later.

He stopped in the doorway when he saw Eli in the hospital bed. All the color left his face.

He crossed the room and took our son’s hand.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have left you there.”

Eli was too exhausted to answer.

For one brief moment, I thought James finally understood.

Then Margaret appeared behind him.

Her eyes were swollen from crying. She took one look at Eli and covered her mouth.

“I never meant to hurt him.”

James released Eli’s hand and went to her.

Margaret folded against his chest. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders while she sobbed.

“Mom didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said to me.

I looked at the oxygen line beneath Eli’s nose.

“Her intentions couldn’t help him breathe.”

“She panicked.”

“Eli was the one who couldn’t breathe.”

James flinched.

“Please,” he said. “She’s already blaming herself.”

Our son had nearly died, and James was worried his mother felt guilty about it.

A nurse came in to check Eli’s monitor. We said nothing until she left and the room fell quiet again.

Eli’s eyes had closed.

James lowered his voice.

“We don’t need to tell the school everything.”

I stared at him.

He continued quickly. “They already removed Mom from the pickup list. Reporting this will only make things worse.”

“Which part should I leave out? The cupcake, or the part where she wouldn’t give me his injector?”

“That isn’t what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“If you report this, you’ll destroy her relationship with Eli.”

The monitor kept beeping beside our sleeping son.

That was when I understood.

James wasn’t asking me to forgive a mistake.

He was asking me to help him hide it.