Page 115 of At First Flight
“The one you only get when someone’s crawled under your ribs and made a home there.”
I laugh it off. But he’s not wrong.
When I glance over my shoulder, Lila is crouched near the dessert table, helping Evelyn balance a lemon bar on a paper plate. Lila reaches out and grips the edge of the plate just before it topples over. Oliver is nearby, covered in face paint and powdered sugar, declaring war on the water balloon brigade.
She doesn’t see me watching her, not at first.
Her hair is caught in a braid she must’ve twisted together since we arrived. The ends are curled softly where the heat from the day caught hold. Her sundress is a shade of pale green that makes her skin look sun-kissed and glowy.
And damn if that image doesn’t settle right into my chest like it belongs there.
I make my way across the field, past the cornhole boards, and into the soft shade of the pavilion. It’s cooler here, quieter too, enough that I can hear Evelyn’s bubbly chatter and Lila’s low laughter.
“Daddy!” Evelyn spots me and immediately reaches her sticky hands into the air. She’d recently taken up the moniker after hearing her brother call me Dad a few times. Lila watched me break down that night, both out of fear that they’re forgetting their mother and complete joy that they see me as their parent.
I scoop her up, holding her against my side, and steal a glance at Lila. “How’s the sugar patrol holding up?”
She grins. “Just bribed them with watermelon instead of cupcakes. I’d say I’m winning.”
She’s winning more than she knows. The kids are calmer around her. Lighter. Happier. Hell, I am too.
I set Evelyn down beside her again and lean in, dropping my voice low. “You’re incredible with them.”
Lila ducks her head but not before I catch the flush on her cheeks. “They’re easy to love.”
I’m about to sit down when a scream tears through the air. Sharp. Panicked. Young. The kind of sound that stills an entire crowd.
Heads whip toward the play area. A woman stumbles to her feet, a plate of deviled eggs crashing to the grass. She shouts something, a name, I think, but it’s lost in the scramble.
Lila’s already moving.
I blink, momentarily stunned at how fast she reacts. She darts toward a boy no older than Oliver, curled near the edge of the sandbox, clutching his throat. His face is blotchy and swollen. His lips are already tinged a scary shade of blue.
“EpiPen!” Lila shouts, dropping to her knees beside him. “Does anyone have an EpiPen?”
The boy’s mother fumbles through a diaper bag with shaking hands. “He has one! He has one!”
I rush forward, heart thudding. The whole park is still now, quiet except for the sharp gasps of a little boy who can’t get air. My stomach churns. Lila rips the pen from the mother’s hands the second she finds it. No hesitation. No second-guessing.
“Hold him steady,” she instructs, then plunges the needle into his thigh.
The boy jerks, but she’s already murmuring calm reassurances, her hand smoothing over his hair, her breathing steady and sure.
My own breath catches. Because this, this woman is doing what no one else in this field full of parents and picnic baskets could do.
She’s saving him.
Within seconds, his breathing starts to ease. The swelling doesn’t disappear, but it stops getting worse. The crowd collectively exhales, but Lila doesn’t move. She stays crouched beside him, hand in his, whispering soft things only he can hear. His mom is sobbing now, clutching both of them.
Paramedics arrive minutes later, summoned by someone in the crowd. Lila points out the small square of peanut brittle clutched in the boy’s hand to them. Something he had clearly snuck when his mother wasn’t looking.
They take over, and Lila steps back, chest heaving like she’s run a marathon. She turns toward me. And I see it, the tremble in her hands, the shadow in her eyes. The past bleeding into the present.
I step up beside her. “Lila…”
She shakes her head once, hard. “I’m okay. I just…” Her voice cracks. “He’s gonna be okay.”
“You were amazing.” My voice is hoarse and thick. “You saved his life.”
