Page 193 of One Big Little Secret

That’s what the tests say, according to the doctor who found me hours after they finished pumping his stomach.

We were lucky, he said, because we got Arlo in fast, when he could still get help. If we’d waited—

I don’t want to think about it.

Not everyone gets so lucky. The doctor made that clear.

I shudder at the thought of what could’ve been. The way he said it so matter-of-factly with only a flicker of worry behind his round spectacles.

So professional, as if kids dying from weird plants is an everyday occurrence. As ifmy Arlobecoming one more statistic would just be a bad day.

He didn’t mean anything by it, though. I know that.

Too much tragedy hardens anyone involved with medicine and human health.

He also can’t answer the most damning question of all—how?

“Arlo,” I whisper, stroking his hair, but he doesn’t hear me. I press my lips to his forehead, hoping that somewhere deep in his dreams, he knows his mom loves him.

“Hey,” Patton says, pulling up the seat next to me. “How is he today?”

I close my eyes until my voice steadies so I can answer him.

We’ve sent a few texts since he left to go on his wild goose chase, but I don’t know if I can forgive him for walking away from me so easily.

It’s our son.Ourson and Patton left me at the hospital alone.

Even if he had the best intentions, it’s hard to forgive and forget.

“Salem.” Patton’s voice is so rough, reaching to take my hands in his. “I know you don’t get why I had to go, but—”

“It’s foxglove. The poison,” I say, cutting him off.

Apologies can wait.

Maybe by then I’ll be in a mood to listen.

Right now, all I want to do is scream at him, but they’ll haul me out of this hospital if I do that. And I can’t leave Arlo. I can’t.

Patton’s forehead lines with worry, mirroring his frown. “What do you mean? What else did they tell you?”

“He… he had a near-lethal dose. And no, he didn’teata foxglove. I’d have noticed that. It’s also not the sort of thing kids his age just pick up and pop in their mouths. He’s stable now, but…” I can’t finish.

“Shit.” His gaze hardens and he glances at Arlo, his frown deepening as he studies our shattered boy, cradled in a pit of off-white bedsheets with tubes running in him.

It’s my child lying there.

My boy who almostdied.

The shock won’t stop gripping my throat.

I should be stronger, more functional. But it’s a stumbling block, tripping me up every time I try to send my thoughts in a new direction, away from the nightmare fact thatArlo was flipping poisoned and he almost died.

Patton runs his hands up my arms, his palms warming me where I’m cold. When did I turn into a human ice sculpture?

“You should come home,” he urges gently. “Take a break. At least go down to the cafeteria with me and eat something. Rest.”

“And who’s going to look after Arlo then?”

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