Chương 3
Victor told them Alejandro normally kept two epinephrine injectors there because of a severe tree-nut allergy.
Both were missing.
Dominic said he had removed one three days earlier after noticing the printed expiration date had passed.
He could not explain the second.
Elena and Emma were allowed to leave shortly before sunset, but Lillian stopped them near the service entrance.
“Your employment is suspended pending investigation.”
Elena stared at her.
“You cannot be serious.”
“This is not a disciplinary conclusion.”
“You just told me not to come back.”
“With pay for one week.”
“One week.”
Lillian tucked her phone beneath one arm. “The police found evidence of allergen exposure in Mr. Moretti’s wine. You handled the service items in that room this morning.”
“I dusted the shelves.”
“You polished the decanter.”
“Along with every other piece of glass in the room.”
“Then you understand why distance is appropriate.”
Emma held her mother’s hand and looked between them.
Elena kept her voice low. “My daughter saved his life.”
“And I am grateful she was unharmed.”
“That is not what I said.”
Lillian glanced toward the guards at the end of the corridor. “Go home, Elena.”
Outside, rain had begun tapping against the estate’s stone steps. Elena did not open the umbrella in her bag. She carried Emma to the bus stop, though the child’s legs hung nearly to her knees.
At the shelter, Emma touched her mother’s wet cheek.
“Are you crying?”
“It’s rain.”
Emma considered this.
“There’s a roof.”
Elena laughed once. The sound broke in the middle.
On the bus, Emma fell asleep against her side, still wearing the pale mint dress. A dark red stain marked one shoe where she had knelt near the broken wineglass.
Elena watched neighborhoods pass beyond the fogged window. Large houses gave way to apartment buildings, gas stations, a closed bakery, and the laundromat where one machine always ate quarters. Her phone vibrated eleven times inside her purse.
She did not check it until they reached home.
Seven calls came from unfamiliar numbers. Two were reporters. One was from Lillian. One was from Dominic.
The final call came from St. Vincent’s Hospital.
A nurse told her Alejandro Moretti had survived the first critical hours. He remained sedated and under observation, but his blood pressure had stabilized.
“The physician asked us to confirm the medication your daughter administered,” the nurse said.
“It was an EpiPen Junior.”
“Do you know the expiration date?”
Elena recited it from memory.
After the call ended, she stood in the center of their small kitchen while the refrigerator motor clicked on behind her.
Emma had saved a man with the only injector they owned.
The replacement prescription had already been delayed because their insurance required another authorization from the allergist. Elena had spent forty minutes on hold the previous week, listening to cheerful flute music while someone decided whether her daughter needed the medicine that had once kept her alive.
She opened the pantry and took down a jar of peanut butter, then put it back with unnecessary force.
Emma appeared in the doorway wearing pajamas patterned with yellow moons.
“Are you mad at me?”
Elena looked at her.
“No.”
“You made the jar angry.”
Elena sat on the kitchen floor.
Emma came closer but stopped beyond reach, uncertain whether she had permission.
“I was scared,” Elena said.
“Me too.”
“You should have called a grown-up.”
“I did. They said no.”
Elena pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes.
Emma approached then. She climbed into her mother’s lap and leaned against her chest.
“He couldn’t breathe,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“I only had one.”
“I know.”
“Did I do bad?”
Elena wrapped both arms around her.
“No. You did something very brave.”
“Then why are you sad?”
Because bravery had entered their lives wearing an empty plastic injector and the threat of unemployment. Because the right thing did not pay rent. Because Emma was four and had already learned that adults with authority could be wrong.
Elena kissed her temple.
“Sometimes the right thing is still scary afterward.”
Emma accepted this without liking it.
At ten that night, someone knocked on their apartment door.
Elena checked the chain before opening it.
Dominic stood in the hallway. Without the black jacket, he seemed less broad. His white shirt was wrinkled, and a purple mark had appeared where Emma’s fingernails had caught his wrist.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Elena said.
“I know.”
“How did you get my address?”
He looked embarrassed by the question, which was answer enough.
Elena began closing the door.
“I came to apologize.”
“To me?”
“To both of you.”
Emma watched from behind Elena’s hip.
Dominic lowered himself into a crouch, though the motion looked painful on his knees. “I said something I had no right to say.”
Emma touched the rabbit ear on her backpack, which lay on a chair beside the door.
“You said Mama would get fired.”
“Yes.”
“She did.”
Dominic looked up at Elena.
“Suspended,” Elena said. “One week of pay.”
His jaw tightened. “I’ll speak to Lillian.”
“No.”
“I can fix that.”
“No, you can’t.”
He stood. “I was trying to stop her from making the situation worse.”
“She made it better.”
“I know that now.”
“You should have known it then.”
Dominic glanced down the hall. An upstairs neighbor had opened her door two inches and was pretending not to watch.
“I thought she had some kind of toy,” he said quietly. “Then I saw the injector, and all I could think was that if she did the wrong thing, if he died while I stood there—”
“You protected yourself.”
The words struck him cleanly. He did not deny them.
“I removed one of his injectors from the desk,” he said.
Elena’s hand tightened on the door.
“Why?”
“It was expired.”
“Where is it?”
“I gave it to Mr. Moretti’s cousin.”
“What cousin?”
“Gabriel.”
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“Why would you give him medication?”
“He said he was replacing it. He handles the household medical contracts.”
