Page 95 of Loud Unspoken Memories

I move my arm, open my eyes, and see the ceiling tiles of the hospital room. It all comes back in one huge wave. Charles’s death. The accident. The ten glorious days with Dallas.Charlie. I bolt straight up when I remember what brought us to the hospital.

The nurse across the room smiles and gives me the ‘ok’ sign. She comes over and quietly tells me, “He’s doing great. There was no rebound reaction overnight. The doctor will clear him for discharge this morning.”

She shoves a dozen pamphlets at me concerning kids and peanut allergies. It’s nothing I don’t know, and it’s a futile attempt to try and tell her that I know at least as much about it as she does, but a string of unfortunate events put me in a situation of not having the EpiPen.

I knowallthe tips. It was a stupid mistake. Why didn’t I say anything at the pool? It’s usually the first thing I do when around new people.Hello, I’m Marti. My son Charlie has a severe peanut allergy, please don’t give him any food or have any peanuts around or even eat them when he’s near. His preschool won’t even allow peanuts through the front doors as he’s one of three kids there with an allergy.

I feel incredibly guilty over not having my son’s life-saving medicine. Everyone probably assumes I’m a horrible mother. Maybe I am. I should have checked to make sure it was in my purse when I first went to Dallas’s cabin.

I swear on my life that I’ll never be without an EpiPen ever again. I’ll have one stapled to my hip if that’s what it takes. I won’t lose him.

For a moment, I can imagine what it’s like for Dallas. To feel so broken and alone. Losing Alex was impossibly hard, but if I lost Charlie, it would be the last straw. I couldn’t recover.Is that what it’s like for him?

When the nurse leaves, I tiptoe over to Charlie’s bed and gaze down on him, feeling all kinds of lucky despite everything that went horribly wrong.

It’s hard to get the picture of Dallas holding Charlie and carrying him to meet the ambulance out of my head.Dallas. Not me. Not Asher.Hewas the one who acted so swiftly. Who knows what those precious moments saved Charlie from. Brain damage? Death?

I shudder to think of it.

And once again, Dallas Montana becomes a savior. A hero. I know it’s not a distinction he cares about, but he’s earned it nonetheless.

Last night, they wouldn’t let anyone else up here. It was after visiting hours. Asher texted and said he’d pick us up in the morning when Charlie got released.He’dpick us up. Not Dallas.

I saw his visceral reaction last night once Charlie was safe and in the ambulance. His face was as white as a ghost. He was shaking so hard I thoughthemight need medical attention. And then he got sick.

Dallas isn’t coming. Not today. Probably not ever.

There’s a soft knock on the door, then Asher’s head pops in.

I wave him inside.

He walks around the side of the bed and puts an arm around me, kissing my temple. “That kid scared the shit out of me,” he whispers.

I nod, trying to keep the tears at bay.

The first time Charlie had an anaphylactic reaction to peanuts, he was fourteen months old. We were at a theme park, and luckily they had their own paramedics who carried EpiPens. After that day, I was vigilant about having one on me at all times.

The second time it happened, we were at Suzanne’s daughter’s birthday party. By this time, everyone I knew understood they couldn’t have peanuts anywhere near Charlie. But one of the toddler party-goers had eaten a peanut butter sandwich just before coming, his parents unaware that even residue on his mouth, face, and hands could potentially kill my son. Luckily, I was there with the EpiPen. He never got anywhere near as bad as he was last night.

Charlie stirs. His eyes open, and he looks up at me. I lean over the bed and pull him into a huge hug. “Hey, buddy. You gave us a scare, but you’re fine now.”

“The big bad food?” he asks, returning my hug with fervor.

“Yes. The big bad food. But, Charlie, you need to start calling it peanuts. Other people don’t know what the big bad food is. You’re a big boy now and you need to be able to tell people you can’t have peanuts. And you can never never accept snacks without asking me or Uncle Asher.”

“Okay, Mommy. I’ll say penus.”

Asher and I chuckle at the way it comes out. Asher whispers, “People will think he’s allergic to dick.”

I swat his arm. “Stop it.”

Asher and Charlie play games on Ash’s phone while I fill out Charlie’s discharge paperwork. “I wonder how muchthisis gonna cost me,” I mumble.

The nurse must have overheard me. “Word is the bill has already been paid.” She places an EpiPen on the table. “Including the cost of this.”

I look up. “What are you talking about?”

“One of the night-shift nurses said a man called to get an update on your son. No information could be released of course, but he insisted on paying the bill. Rather vehemently, as I heard it. We don’t deal with billing, but he was directed to the people who do.” She tosses a look to Charlie. “Looks like your son has a guardian angel.”

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