Page 20 of It’s Me, but Different (Merriweather Sisters #3)
Esme
The sound of my phone distracts me again in the conference room.
For the fifth time in an hour.
“Sorry, my daughter won't stop calling,” I murmur, declining Ana Sofia's call again, while the opposing lawyer continues with his argument.
The entire firm is focused on this trial. It's a client who could open many doors for us in the future, and nothing can go wrong. I can't afford distractions.
The phone rings again.
And again.
And again.
“Can you turn off that damn thing once and for all?” my boss growls in a threatening tone.
I apologize and turn it off without even looking at it. Ana Sofia will have to wait. Whatever it is, it can wait two hours until this meeting ends.
Ana Sofia
“Mom, please answer!” I scream into the phone, but it goes to voicemail again.
Theo is lying on the couch, screaming while writhing in pain. His face is gray, and he's sweating a lot.
“Jessica, please, do something,” I beg, but the sixteen-year-old babysitter Mom hired is crying in the kitchen, not knowing what to do.
This morning, Theo was already complaining about severe stomach pain. Mom had a very important meeting, so she gave him a pill and told him it would pass soon.
But now he's much worse.
Much, much worse.
“Jessica, should we call an ambulance?” I ask through sobs.
“I don't know,” she admits. “Your mother told me not to bother her unless it was very serious. Can you call again? Do you think it's serious?”
I shift my gaze toward my brother. He's very pale, trembling. He's not crying anymore, just moaning very softly, as if he doesn't have the strength to scream.
“Yes, I think it's very serious,” I sigh.
I search my phone for the number I have saved under a fake name. The number she told me to only use for an emergency and that my mother shouldn't see.
I dial it with fear before changing my mind.
“Sloane? This is Ana Sofia. I…”
“Ana? What's wrong? Are you okay?” she interrupts.
“Theo is very bad. His stomach hurts terribly. He's very pale and won't stop moaning. Mom is in a very important meeting and won't answer my calls.”
“Are you alone?” she asks, scared.
“No, Mom left us with a neighbor's daughter, but she's sixteen and doesn't know what to do.”
“Don't worry, we'll fix this. Is Theo vomiting?”
“Yes. And a while ago, he threw up something red.”
“Fuck. Ana, listen to me carefully. Where are you exactly? At home?”
“Yes, at home,” I sob.
“I'm on my way. Stay with Theo. Try to keep him distracted, talk to him, even if he doesn't answer, I'll be there in fifteen minutes,” she assures me.
“What if Mom gets angry because I called you?” I ask fearfully.
“I don't care. Your brother is sick, and you need me. That's all that matters.”
Sloane
“Harper, are you still on the Board of Directors of Watson Memorial Hospital?” I ask without even saying good morning.
“Yes, why?”
“They have a hospital in Denver, right?” I insist.
“It's much smaller than the one in New York, but yes, they have a very well-equipped one,” my older sister responds.
“Please, I need you to call your friend.
What's her name? Dr. Katya Thomas? Her father owns the hospital, right?
Tell her I need them to immediately treat an eight-year-old boy with severe abdominal pain and vomiting.
It's Theo, Esme's son. His mother isn't answering, and Ana Sofia is scared to death.
But do it now, Harper. I'm on my way to their house, I've already called an ambulance, and we'll take him directly to the hospital.
It's important they have everything ready so we don't lose time.”
I drive to Esme's apartment, violating every known traffic rule, practically praying the ambulance doesn't take long to arrive.
“Sloane!” Ana Sofia screams while throwing herself into my arms. “Theo is super bad!”
I hug her tightly while listening to her brother complaining in the living room. These aren't normal complaints from a stomachache. They're deep, guttural moans from someone who's truly suffering.
“Where's your babysitter?” I ask, following Ana Sofia inside.
“In the kitchen, crying. She doesn't know what to do and says it's all her fault,” the girl responds, leading me to where her brother is.
I find him lying on the couch like a broken doll. His face has lost all color and he's drenched in sweat. He hugs the right side of his abdomen with both hands, knees bent toward his chest in a fetal position. Every few seconds, he lets out a moan that pierces me like a dagger.
“Hey, champ,” I whisper, kneeling next to him.
He opens his eyes with effort. They're glassy, unfocused from pain.
“Sloane… it hurts so much,” he gasps. “So, so much.”
I put my hand on his forehead. He's burning with fever.
“I know, sweetheart. But we're going to take you to the hospital to get you better right now, okay? Now you need to stay as calm as possible. You're going to get better before you know it,” I assure him, brushing away a strand of hair stuck to his forehead from sweat.
“Ana Sofia, did you call Mom again?”
“Yes, but the phone is still off,” she sobs. “Why won't she answer? This is important.”
“She probably can't have her phone on,” I explain. “But it's okay. I'll take care of everything.”
The babysitter comes out of the kitchen crying, her body trembling from head to toe. At sixteen, she's overwhelmed by the situation.
“What's your name?”
“Jessica,” she responds through sobs.
“Okay, Jessica, look at me. Breathe. It's not your fault, okay? The ambulance will arrive any moment, and they'll take him to the hospital. I'll handle everything; go home.”
Outside we hear the sound of a siren.
Two emergency technicians enter with a stretcher. One of them, an older man with an enormous gray mustache, quickly evaluates Theo.
“Acute abdominal pain in the lower right quadrant, high fever, muscle guarding,” he tells his partner. “Probable appendicitis starting to complicate.”
“To General Hospital?” the woman asks.
“No,” I interrupt. “They're expecting him at Watson Memorial.”
“I hope they have good medical insurance, then,” she mutters under her breath while rolling her eyes.
“What if Mom comes and doesn't find us here?” Ana Sofia asks when we're about to leave the apartment to follow the ambulance.
“We're going to leave her a note,” I respond, quickly scribbling on paper. “But let's go now. Anyway, as soon as she gets out of the meeting, she'll see a bunch of missed calls and know something happened.”
“What if something goes wrong?” she asks as her eyes fill with tears.
“Nothing's going to go wrong,” I assure her, stroking her hair. “Your brother is going to be perfect.”
We arrive at the hospital with our hearts in our throats and, while they're taking Theo down from the ambulance, a tall man with very black hair wearing a green coat approaches us.
“Miss Merriweather? I'm Dr. Harrison, pediatric surgeon. I received a call from Dr. Arya Kumari from New York. She briefed me on the situation and asked me to personally take charge of the case.”
I simply nod and thank him while he leads us to a room where they've taken Theo.
“102.5 fever, accelerated pulse, marked abdominal guarding in right iliac fossa,” he announces to his team while evaluating the boy's condition. “Positive Blumberg sign. Elevated white blood cells in rapid analysis.”
He turns to us with a very serious expression.
“It's acute peritonitis. The appendix has perforated and shows generalized infection in the abdominal cavity. We need to take him to surgery immediately,” he informs.
“Where's the mother?” a younger doctor asks.
“She's on her way,” I lie.
Dr. Harrison nods.
“Every minute we lose increases the risk of sepsis. We operate under the doctrine of implied consent. Prepare an operating room immediately,” he orders.
“Will you stay with me until Mom comes?” Ana Sofia asks, remaining unusually quiet.
“Of course I will. I won't go anywhere,” I assure her with a wink.
They take Theo through double doors while they lead the girl and me to an enormous VIP room the hospital has prepared for his recovery.
I remain silent, occasionally shifting my gaze toward a wall clock, as if time could move faster every time I look at it. Ana Sofia snuggles against my side and plays distractedly with one of my bracelets.
“How much longer?” she asks for the tenth time.
“A little more, kiddo. Operations take time.”
“Are you sure he's going to be okay?”
“Absolutely sure.”
But inside I'm scared to death.
And we still have no news from Esme.