I stuff a forkful of casserole into my mouth.
“Life is simple off the grid,” Van says. “I do my work, go on my dives. Stay offline.”
“Life is a little too simple,” Nancy says. “Maybe a little too relaxed.”
Van frowns at her.
“But it’s better now that you’re back,” she says. She’s looking at Jacob again. Van reaches out to take her hand, and she shifts her gaze to him and smiles.
Jacob fills my glass with water from the carafe on the table. Conversation motors up again. Nancy gets up to bring dessert from the kitchen. “Homemade cheesecake with blueberries from our garden.”
Everyone ooohs and ahhhs. Van coughs. Once, twice, three times.
“You okay?” Nancy says.
His face reddens. He gasps for breath.
“Drink water, honey.” She tries to hand him a glass. He shakes his head. She puts the glass on the table.
He’s wheezing loudly now, his eyes widening.
Nancy leaps to her feet. “What did you eat?”
Van shakes his head, as if to say he doesn’t know. He’s wheezing.
“There’s no shellfish here!” Nancy says, looking confused. “What was it?” She looks at his plate in shock.
“Do you have an EpiPen?” Jacob says.
Nancy looks around, flustered, blinking. “In the bathroom. Under the sink.” She rushes down the hall.
“Where’s the phone?” Jacob says.
Van coughs and sputters, pointing behind him.
Jacob goes into the kitchen. “We’re on Dream’s End Lane,” he says to someone on the phone. “You need to get here right away.” He comes back into the dining room. “They’re on the way.”
Van coughs and wheezes, gasping for breath.
Jacob pats him on the back. “Easy, buddy.”
I’m frozen in place, the scene surreal, time slowing.
“Where is it?” Nancy yells from the bathroom. “Where’s the EpiPen?”
Van slumps over in his chair. Red welts form around his mouth. His lips are swollen.
“Hey, buddy,” Jacob says. “Deep breaths.”
“What can I do to help?” I say.
“Help her look for the EpiPen,” Jacob says.
I rush to the bathroom, find Nancy sitting on the floor, toiletries strewn around her. “It was here. It’s not here!”
I kneel beside her. “Where else could it be? Think.”
“I don’t know! Bedroom.”
“Go and look in there. I’ll keep searching in here.”
“There’s nothing here,” Nancy says. “We have an EpiPen. But it’s not here!”
“Everything is going to be okay,” I say, although I’m not sure this is true. “The medics are on their way.”
“It’ll be too late!” Nancy says, but she goes out to the bedroom.
As I search the bathroom, I try to ignore the horrifying sounds coming from Van—choking and gasping. There’s nothing here. No EpiPen. But I find a bottle of pink liquid in a drawer. Benadryl. Better than nothing. I race back to the dining room, open the top, and offer the bottle to Van. He can’t even swallow. He chokes, and the liquid spills down his chin.
“How long is it going to take the medics?” I say, putting the bottle on the table.
Van’s barely breathing as the sirens approach, bright lights flashing. A red firetruck parks right in front of the house, and two men rush in with a stretcher. They’re in yellow suits, one man gray-haired, the younger one with jet-black hair.
“Oh, Earl, thank goodness,” Nancy says, rushing in from the bedroom.
“What happened?” the older man, Earl, says.
“No EpiPen! I don’t know where it is! Honey, breathe!” She whacks Van on the back. He keeps choking.
“Nan, out of the way,” Earl says in a calm voice. “We’ll take it from here.” He and the younger man put down the stretcher and motion to everyone to move back. Earl plunges a syringe directly into Van’s thigh, right through his jeans.
Van cries out. The younger man wraps a blood pressure cuff around his arm. We all stand back, watching the men work.
“Van, you hear me?” Earl says, shining a penlight in each eye.
Van’s gasping for breath.
Earl takes Van’s pulse, and then the two men maneuver Van onto the stretcher while the younger firefighter talks into a radio. “We need an airlift at Helipad 1 on Mystic . . .”
Van is lying on the stretcher, an oxygen mask over his face. We all stand back, Nancy crying. I wrap an arm around her shoulders.
The men hoist the stretcher and carry Van to the front door.
“I’m going with you,” Nancy says, grabbing her coat from a hook by the door.
“We’ll take care of things here,” I say. “Don’t worry.”
“Thank you.” She grabs her purse and whips past me. The dogs try to run after her, but Jacob grabs their collars. My breath is trapped in my throat. Jacob holds the front door open with one hand, for the medics. As they pass, Van looks at me, his eyes wide with terror. The diver rises below me in the churning water, his eyes wide with terror. He’s gasping for breath. I swim toward him, fighting the current. Another diver comes up behind me. The third diver, the diver below us, points back over his shoulder to his compression line. He’s not getting any air. He’s drowning, drifting away, and I can’t reach him.