Page 45 of Remember Me
Terror fills Finn’s voice. “This has never happened before.”
On my next pained breath, he scoops her little body into his arms as she holds her inhaler to her mouth.
“Scarlet, call 911. We’ve got to get her to an emergency room.”
My heart galloping, I pull out my cell phone from my jeans pocket and do as he asks. On the third ring, someone picks up. The voice female and nasal.
“911. What’s your emergency?”
“Our little girl isn’t breathing,” I spit out, cognizant of the possessive adjective I’ve used. Finn, whose attention is focused solely on Maddie, doesn’t notice or react. To my horror, the dispatcher asks a series of ridiculous, time-wasting questions. “When did the asthma attack start? Has her color changed? What medicine is she on? Is she able to walk and talk?”
“Please just get someone here!” I want to strangle the person on the other end. Doesn’t she realize my little girl’s life is at stake? Time is of the essence. I vomit out our address so fast I can only hope she’s gotten it right.
Grabbing Maddie’s beloved Kangy off her bed, I follow Finn down the stairs, praying an ambulance will be here shortly.
Thankfully, ten minutes later, Maddie is strapped on a gurney, her pale face covered by an oxygen mask. She looks so frail and vulnerable. My heart splinters as fear claws at every nerve in my body.
The three EMTs wheel her to the front door at breakneck speed.
“I’m going with her,” shouts Finn, right behind them.
“Finn, I’m coming with you.” I need to be there for my child. And I need to be there for him.
My blood turns to ice with a terrifying thought.
Oh God, what if she dies?
CHAPTER 27
Skye
At the hospital, we head to the waiting room while Maddie undergoes emergency treatment. Both of us begged the paramedics to let us be with her, but they absolutely refused. Against hospital rules and regulations.
Finn ushers me to a couch, a hand splayed on the small of my back. The familiar touch of him sends a rush of pinpricks across my skin, the small affectionate gesture a painful reminder of the past. It’s how he always treated me, gallantly and protectively. I take a seat on the tweed couch, thinking he’ll sit on one of the armchairs. Instead, he sits down next to me, so close our knees touch. The warmth of his body radiates, heating my chilled bones. I let him take my hand in his, resting our twined fingers on his muscular thigh. On my lap is Kangy. With my other hand, I stroke the stuffed animal’s soft fur and say nothing. My emotions are in a jumble. Sneaking a peek at my companion, I try to read his mind. His face is strained, full of tension like the air between us.
“Thanks for being here for me,” he finally says.
“Of course.” My voice is as soft as a prayer.
“I don’t know what set her off. I try so hard to keep her environment controlled. I even moved to the beach so she wouldn’t have to deal with pollution and pollen. And switched from oil paints to acrylics which aren’t so toxic. Her quick relief medicine should have worked. I don’t know what happened. Maybe I’m not doing enough.”
The love this man has for our child makes my heart want to burst. So does the guilt he harbors inside.
“It’s a freak thing,” I tell him. “She’s going to be okay.”
“God, I hope so. I would give my life for her.”
I would too.
“I love her more than life itself.”
I do too.I fight back tears.
When a doctor walks into the waiting room, I’m spared. Both of us jump up from the couch, our fingers still laced. My free hand clutches Kangy.
“How is she?” blurts out Finn.
The doctor, an attractive Black woman in her mid-thirties, smiles. “Mr. and Mrs. Jackson...”