Page 63 of I Will Ruin You

I did as I was told.

Bonnie picked her phone back up and, despite another protest from me, hit 911. Three seconds later she was telling a dispatcher our address and that she was worried her husband might be having a heart attack. “Yes,” she said, “I just gave him one.”

She ended the call.

“I’m not having a heart attack,” I said again.

“I hope you’re right, but we’re not taking any chances.”

I nodded, knowing it was pointless to argue now that the paramedics were on their way.

“You’re going to tell me what’s going on,” Bonnie said, “but not now.”

While we waited for the ambulance to arrive, Rachel came into the house and could tell immediately that something was wrong. I tried to persuade her it was nothing serious.

“I was feeling a little off for a minute,” I told her, “and your mother called an ambulance just to be sure I’m okay.”

Her face looked like it might break. “You can help,” I said. “You can let us know when the ambulance gets here.”

She nodded and ran. A couple of minutes later, she screamed, “They’re here! They’re here!”

She had the front door open before Bonnie could get there and lead them into the kitchen. It was a team of two, a man and a woman.

“I’m fine,” I said before they’d even said hello.

They asked me a slew of questions, checked my blood pressure, conducted an electrocardiograph with some little gadget Rachel watched with a mixture of fear and fascination.

“What’s with the bandages?” the female paramedic asked, noticing the ones on my neck and forehead.

“They’re old.”

“And what about this?” She was indicating the bruise on my temple and my puffy eyelid. “Did you fall when you had your episode?”

I’d forgotten I’d been hit. “No, I didn’t fall.” I needed a second to remember the lie I’d told Bonnie. “I got hit with a basketball. It’s fine.”

When they were finished with their speedy tests, they concluded it was unlikely I’d had a cardiac event. But they advised me to come to the hospital anyway.

“I’m okay,” I insisted. “I’ve been under a lot of stress lately, that’s all.”

Rachel piped up, “Dad nearly got killed when the bomb went off.”

Bonnie added more details. The paramedics nodded. They knew all about the LeDrew incident.

“We can’t force you to come,” the woman said. “Something’s happened to you. Just how serious it is would take further tests.”

I was adamant. And maybe stupid. But I sent them on their way.

Once the house was quiet again, and Rachel, still looking somewhat stricken, went to her room after being persuaded I was not going to drop dead, Bonnie went to the freezer for one of the soft ice packs we keep on hand.

“It may be late for this, but hold it on the side of your head.” She handed me the pack, and a towel to hold it with so it didn’t freeze my hand. I did as I was told while Bonnie made some tea, and then sat across the table from me.

“Let’s hear it,” she said.

And so I told her.

Pretty much all of it. Everything that had happened since Finster first approached me on the street Friday out front of our house. How I’d tried to find out more about him. Found his house. Him turning the tables on me, striking me. (At that point in my story, Bonnie’s face flushed red with rage.) I explained the anguish I’d been going through about what was the best way to handle this. My fears of what an allegation like this could do not only to me, but to Bonnie and Rachel. How, given my history, it was just one more thing.

I’d asked Bonnie at the outset to let me get the story out before asking questions. I knew she’d have plenty.