No. I’m not imagining it. I poisoned her. I fucked something up. She got bit by a black widow spider. This is bad. Oh, my God. She’s got welts all over her little body and she’s crying!
Diaper, sweat suit. Socks, no shoes.
Pick her up and run for the elevator.
I suck. I suck as a dad. I totally suck.
Rochelle trusted me for one damn night and now I have to call and tell her we’re on our way to the hospital.
I am the worst dad ever.
Chapter Twenty-Four - Bric
I give Rochelle props for keeping her cool. When Quin called and said he was taking Adley to the hospital, there was a moment. One long moment where I had enough time to imagine a full-fledged freakout from Rochelle.
But I said—in the calmest doctor voice I could manage—“It’s probably an allergic reaction, and nothing more.”
And she took a breath, nodded her head at me, and dealt with it rationally.
Of course, people die from allergies every day. But I left that part out.
We were five minutes from the hospital once we got in the car. Closer than Quin was, for sure. So he was only there a few minutes before we arrived and a nurse was already assessing Adley’s condition and reassuring Quin.
“Oh, my poor baby,” Rochelle says, rushing towards Quin. He’s holding Adley in his lap. She’s doing that little hiccup-cry kids do when they’re done crying, but can’t actually stop. She holds her arms out to Rochelle as she gets close and they hug each other.
Rochelle’s eyes close in relief.
“So what do you think?” I ask the nurse. “Food allergy?”
“Elias? Is that you?”
I turn to see Dr. Tanya Yates, wife of Terrence Yates, Club member since 1999. “Tanya. Nice to see a familiar face.”
“OK,” another doctor says, coming up behind Tanya. “Let’s bring her back now and just take a look.”
Quin and I follow Rochelle and the new doctor towards the double doors to the emergency room, but the nurse puts a hand on my arm and says, “Parents only, please.”
“I’m her father,” I say.
She looks confused, then points to Quin. “He said he was her father.”
“He is,” I say. “We’re both—”
“Linda,” Tanya says, coming up with a firm smile to interrupt the questioning. “Let it go. Go ahead, Elias.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, and turn to follow them in.
Quin and I stand aside as the doctor and nurse do an assessment. “Well,” the doctor says. “I don’t think it’s going to get any worse. Did you feed her something new tonight? Something she’s never had before.”
“Oh, shit,” Rochelle says, looking over at Quin. “I left a new baby food out on the counter. Did you give her the tropical fruit?”
“Yeah,” Quin says. He looks devastated. “I’m so sorry, Rochelle. I didn’t know. I mean I did know about food allergies, I looked it up on the internet. So I knew. But I didn’t think of it. I just…” He shakes his head. “I just didn’t think.”
“It’s not your fault, Quin,” Rochelle says, giving him a sympathetic smile. “I was going to try it out this morning but she didn’t seem hungry after she had her bottle. So I saved it for later. I should’ve put it away. You didn’t know. I told Bric he could feed her the food on the counter so it’s not your fault, it’s mine.”
“It’s not anyone’s fault, you guys.” I say this in my calm rational, doctor voice. “She was going to have this reaction no matter who was feeding her. Could’ve happened to any of us.”
Everything I said is true, of course. But Quin still looks devastated.
“It’s kind of unusual to have an allergic reaction to tropical fruit, but mango has been showing up in the past few years.”
“Ah,” I say, slapping my head. “Shit. I have a mango allergy.” I look apologetically at Rochelle. “I should’ve told you that.”
“And you’re the… father?” the doctor asks, tilting her head at me in confusion. Tanya is not here to help me this time. I look over at Quin and he just shrugs.
“We’re both the father,” I say.
“OK,” the doctor says, fake good-naturedness in her response. “But one of you is the biological father? Or… she’s adopted?”
“She’s my daughter and one of them…” Rochelle stops talking, trying to figure out a way to explain things without really… explaining things. “We don’t know,” Rochelle finally says. “We’re not sure. And we’re not getting a DNA test.”
Quin and I get one raised eyebrow from the doctor, and a disapproving look from the nurse.
“OK,” the doctor says again. “Well, it probably is mango then. The reaction isn’t severe now, but if she’s exposed again, it could get much worse. We can schedule an allergy test if you’d like. Would you like to do that…” She looks down at the paper. “I’m sorry. Are you Mrs. Foster? This one only listed his last name on the intake form.” Apparently, Quin is now called… this one.
The rest of the visit with the doctor, and the nurse, once the doctor leaves, is just as awkward.
But we suck it up, get the referral for the allergist, Adley gets some antihistamines, and we are told to bring the baby food jar with us to the appointment.
We can’t get out of there fast enough.
“Rochelle?”
Oh, shit. Not now.
“Rochelle, is that you?”
“Lucinda,” Rochelle says, smiling for her old therapist.
“I heard you were back. And I heard about the little bundle of cuteness you brought with you.” Lucinda takes a moment to smile and coo at Adley. “I’ve been meaning to stop by the Club and see how you’re doing but—”
“I’m not at the Club,” Rochelle says, nervously looking over her shoulder at the eavesdropping nurse. “We live over on Wynkoop now. Right across from Union Station.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Lucinda says… to Quin. Not me, but Quin.
“Ah, I live there too,” I add, feeling left out.
“Oh,” Lucinda says. “Sorry.” She laughs. “I’m sorry Elias. I just assumed you were… done. Playing the—”
“We’re not playing,” Quin says. “We’re just… together now.”
“I see,” Lucinda says. “All three—err, four of you?”
“We gotta go,” I say, taking hold of Rochelle’s arm. “It was nice seeing you again, Lucinda. Tell Clark we said hi.”
I don’t wait for an answer, just lead her out. Quin goes ahead of us and says, “I’ve got the car seat, so… you wanna come with me, Rochelle?”
“Sure,” Rochelle says. “Meet you at home?” she says to me.
“Yup, I’m right behind you.”
Quin’s car—Rochelle’s, really, since that’s the one with the baby seat in it—is parked in a spot right next to the emergency dropoff. My car is down a ways, so I tuck my hands into my pockets and head the other direction.
“Bric,” someone calls my name. “Bric, wait!”
I turn around to find Lucinda following me. Jesus Christ. Just go away.
“Do you have a second?” she asks. “Just a second,” she says again, coming up to me a little out of breath. “I just wanted to see how everyone’s doing. I’ve been meaning to call. Drop by.” She waves her hand in the air and smiles. “How’s Rochelle doing?”