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I nodded, ready to try anything. After I placed her gently on the floor, I snagged a pillow and blanket off my bed. She was completely unresponsive as I gently tended to her. “Are you sending an ambulance?”
“Yes, but we need to do something now. If the reaction is as severe as you’re describing, it can only take fifteen minutes with her like this without any treatment before she might die.”
My heart nearly stopped in my chest. Had it already been fifteen minutes? I had no clue how long she’d been like this before I’d gotten home. Christ. “Well, then how the fuck do we treat her?”
“She should have some kind of emergency rescue medication on hand if she has a known allergy. Like an EpiPen or something.”
I had no idea what an EpiPen looked like, but when I caught sight of Remy’s purse on the kitchen table, I dashed to it and dumped the contents all over the table. A shit ton of stuff spilled out. Pens, old receipts, a wallet, notepad, tampons, guitar pick, lip balm, a used Forbidden coaster, but...what the hell did an EpiPen even look like?
“Jesus,” I gasped, afraid I was killing her even as I stood there, too stupid to know what I was looking for; my allergy to latex wasn’t anywhere bad enough to merit any kind of emergency rescue medication. I was about to throw the purse across the room in frustration when I felt a hard lump inside. I took one last look and found a zippered interior pocket.
And I nearly wept with relief when the thick black letters spelling EpiPen sprang out at me from a bright yellow box inside.
“I got it!” I yelled into the phone, racing back to Remy, where Mozart was hovering only a few feet away. I tore the box away from the pen and nodded as I listened to the instructions from the emergency operator about how to inject it. As I jabbed the needle into Remy’s thigh, I closed my eyes and prayed.
Please, please, please work.
I’d just found this woman. I couldn’t lose her now.
One, two, three seconds passed, and then Remy wheezed. My eyes flew open just as she stirred, trying to roll onto her side. Coughing, she wheezed again.
“Remy? Baby?” I cradled her, helping her move wherever she wanted to move. “I’m here. It’s going to be okay. We’re getting you some help now.”
Her hand caught my wrist and she squeezed hold of me, letting me know she heard me. Tears slid down my cheeks. “You’re going to be just fine. Oh, God. You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”
I didn’t have a number of anyone to call in Remy’s family, so I ended up ringing Jodi, and she met me at the hospital with sadly both Holden and Gally with her.
When I told her what had gone down, she shivered and hugged herself. “Oh, God. I’m calling her family.”
As she and Gally and Holden took control of one side of the waiting room, where Jodi paced and called number after number, I sat with my knees wide, my elbows resting on them so I could bury my face into my hands.
I couldn’t believe I’d come so close to losing Remy, and I hadn’t even really gotten her yet. As soon as she woke up, I was letting her know good and well I loved her...and she wasn’t allowed to die on me.
I sent off a text to Pick.
Not sure why I did that; he was a newly married man. He and Eva were probably off on their honeymoon now. I shouldn’t have bothered him.
But he was family, and I needed someone with me. I didn’t ask him to come, though, I just told him about what had happened, and oddly, I felt somewhat better after that, just having someone to talk to.
I’d been sitting there about ten minutes, hoping someone would come and let us back to see her soon, when I spotted what looked like her cousin Tomás rush into the waiting room, followed by an older version of him—probably Remy’s uncle Alonso—and a little old lady, whom I figured had to be her grandmother.
They descended on Jodi, demanding answers. As Jodi updated them as best she could, Tomás translated everything to the grandmother in Spanish, who clutched her mouth and looked as if she might pass out.
“Asher’s the one who found her and saved her life.” Jodi motioned to me. “He knows more about it than I do.”
Her family turned, and three pairs of eyes focused on me. I straightened in my chair, not ready to be their center of attention.
“Who are you?” the uncle asked, eyeing me with untrusting disdain.
“I, uh...” I pushed to my feet and held out a hand. “Asher Hart, sir. I’m Remy’s...friend.”
The older man sniffed derisively at my palm. “She has too many gringo friends. What were you doing at her apartment?”
I blinked, not expecting this line of questioning. “I, uh... Actually, she was at my place. I came home from work and found her unconscious on the floor. 911 talked me through giving her a shot from her EpiPen.”
“Bien,” Tomás told me, slapping the side of my arm companionably. “Gracias for helping her.”
His dad scowled at him and snapped something in Spanish, which only made his son shrug and answer with a few short unaffected words. Then Remy’s uncle was spinning back to me and blinking as if he wasn’t sure how to receive me now.
