Page 11 of Graveyard Dog

“Emma? Can open your eyes for me, sweetheart?” the nurse said loudly, getting no response. She checked Emma’s vitals and made sure her airway was clear as two other nurses and a doctor rushed over. The wheezing was better but still there.

“What’s she allergic to?” the doctor asked, checking her pupils yet again.

“Peanuts.”

“Did she eat any?”

“Of course, not,” she said. “I don’t keep them in the house.”

“Peanut butter left on a spoon?”

“Never. I don’t keep peanut products in the house at all.” What did he care at this point anyway? He needed to focus on her daughter and stop accusing her of being a bad mother. She could do that all by herself.

The doctor, looking younger than the gray at his temples suggested, ran his stethoscope over Emma’s chest and checked the meter clipped to her finger. “Let’s get her some oxygen, start an IV with Benadryl, and I need that epinephrine. Now.”

“Yes, Doctor,” an older nurse said, her every move like a well-oiled machine.

They took scissors to Emma’s shirt, the incision cutting the head off a sparkly unicorn, her tiny body startlingly fragile on the huge gurney. As an army of medical professionals worked on Emma, Michael put his hands on Izzy’s shoulders and pulled her back a little to give them room. The warmth of his palms startled her. As did the reassurance his closeness brought. She’d felt like a sparrow in a hurricane for so long, navigating a never-ending barrage of distrust and threats. She didn’t know how to take this new sensation.

At some point, a woman from administration came to get Emma’s insurance card along with Izzy’s ID, but they didn’t ask Izzy to leave her daughter’s side to fill out the paperwork just yet. For that, she was thankful.

It didn’t take long for Emma to wake up. They talked to her, speaking clearly to make sure she was responsive. Her eyes looked huge over the mask administering a breathing treatment, but she nodded her head and answered everything she could—in her British accent, of course—until she could no longer fight the weight of her lids and they drifted shut again.

The hives had disappeared, and the swelling in her face had diminished. They draped her in a pink hospital gown with rabbits on it, and a nurse covered her in a warm blanket as the doctor, almost as tall as the man at her back, pulled them aside.

“We’re going to keep her overnight for observation. Her symptoms could return, but she seems to be out of the woods.”

Izzy breathed deeply for the first time since they’d arrived. It had felt as though Emma’s condition had manifested in Izzy’s body, fighting for the air she couldn’t allow it to have.

“You don’t know how this happened?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I’m very careful, and she hasn’t been out of the house since yesterday. I can’t imagine.”

“Okay, well, Stacy is bringing you the papers to get her registered. But just so you know, we have to report this.”

“Report it?” Michael said, closing the distance between them to stand beside her as though readying to confront the doctor.

She patted his hand, the one on her right shoulder, to calm him. Of course, they had to report the incident. It was protocol. Izzy knew about the allergy, and Emma had been in her care when it happened. Child abuse? Neglect? They had no way of knowing that she would die for the tiny creature lying in that bed.

She pressed her lips together and nodded. “I know.”

The doctor smiled sadly. “I take it this isn’t your first rodeo.”

“It’s not,” she said, lifting her chin. Short and sweet. For now, her goal was to keep their conversation as concise as possible. The paperwork would be a nightmare. She just wanted to get through it and focus on Emma, not answer his questions on top of the plethora that awaited her.

The doctor nodded to her, then to Michael, the Neanderthal, whose hands were still on her shoulders like they belonged there, the warmth the most comforting thing she’d felt in a very long time. She’d had no one. Absolutely no one. And then he’d shown up like he owned the place—which he did—and went from hostage to confidante in a matter of hours. How was this happening?

“We’ll take her to her room now,” a nurse said. Izzy hadn’t noticed when the doctor left. “You can bring this paperwork with you.” She handed Michael at least a tree’s worth of papers secured to a bright-orange clipboard.

He accepted them.

“We’ll come get it in a bit. Take your time.”

“Is she completely out of the woods?” Michael asked her.

“Her symptoms can return even stronger hours after an initial reaction. It’s called biphasic anaphylaxis.”

“I’ll take your word for that.”

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