Page 90 of Mr. Brightside

I connect the two pieces, deciding to go for a full rescue dose instead of the two puffs she would normally get. “Breathe out first,” I remind her, bringing the end of the spacer to her lips and tilting her chin up slightly.

I watch, anxious, as her face screws up in pain. She blows out, but the breath is so shallow it barely moves the little filter flap on the top of the spacer. Fuck. When she inhales, she coughs and sputters, but I see a good amount of the medicine leave the chamber. It’s a start.

“How is she?” Ashleigh’s panicked voice fills the room.

I don’t bother responding just yet—at least not to her. “Good job, baby girl. Try again. Blow out again for me.”

Fiona gets in another good dose of medicine, and it takes a few seconds before she starts sputtering this time. She repeats the inhalation a few more times until I’m satisfied she got as much in her system as possible.

“Psst.” I jut my chin toward Mimi, who’s picked her tablet up again. I know she’s watching us, taking everything in. Kid doesn’t miss a thing. But shutting down is one of our shared coping strategies, so I know she’s scared for her sister right now, even if she doesn’t show it.

“I need some help from nurse Mimi.”

She grins at the screen before looking up at me.

“Get me the finger thingy,” I instruct, knowing she’ll know exactly what I mean.

She searches in the bag as I wrap one arm protectively around Fiona, then finally turn to where my brother’s pacing with the phone in hand.

“Can you hear me, Ash?” I ask, circumventing Julian completely. He scowls at being ignored but steps closer so I can hear his wife’s response.

“Yes! Yes, I can hear you. How’s she doing?”

I look down at Fiona, who just seems—fuck. She seems listless. I have no idea how long she was struggling before Julian finally called Ashleigh. But I know it was too long. I glance over to Mimi, who’s sitting up on her knees beside me now, opening and closing the Velcro pouch that holds the portable pulse ox. I’ve never had to do this before, but Ashleigh showed me how to use it. It can’t be that hard to figure out.

“She’s just okay,” I offer tentatively. I don’t want to put anyone on edge, but I know things aren’t good. “You’re going to be okay,” I whisper to Fiona before smoothing back her hair and kissing her on the forehead. “I did the full six puffs on her inhaler, and I’m about to check her pulse ox.”

“Okay, good. Thank God.” Ashleigh’s appreciation doesn’t feel warranted, and I can’t help but notice how the wrinkles deepen between Julian’s brows as he glares at his phone.

I hold out my hand, and Mimi places the device in my palm. There’s only one button on the thing, so I push it, and the screen comes to life. I open the clamp, and Fiona sticks her finger out for me. She’s done this a million times before, so she knows the drill.

“Just try to breathe normally,” I encourage as we watch the red lines dance on the screen, reading the oxygen saturation in her system.

“I go next,” Mimi whispers beside me.

I fight back a grin and nod in her direction.

When the number pops up on the screen, my stomach bottoms out. “It’s eighty-seven, Ash.”

Fiona’s eyes widen at the number, and Julian’s scowl deepens.

“Is that good or bad?” he asks, looking at the phone, then back to me.

“It’s supposed to be between ninety-five and one hundred, Julian,” Ashleigh snaps through the phone.

Fiona is suddenly overcome by another coughing fit, cranking the vibe of the room up another fifty decimals. I gently caress her shoulder, whispering words of reassurance.

Julian’s pacing now, but he’s close enough I know Ashleigh can hear me. “Ash—am I remembering correctly that six puffs is the max?”

“Yes,” she answers automatically. “When did you give them to her?”

“Literally two minutes ago. What do you want to do?” My question is aimed at Ashleigh, but my gaze is fixed on Julian.

We’re locked in an emotional stare down as I try to hold my temper but also wordlessly let him know I think he’s a shitty parent. Sure, things happen. Fiona’s had asthma attacks before. But I can’t help but wonder if his lack of parental know-how contributed to what’s turning out to be a traumatic ordeal.

“Take her to Children’s,” Ashleigh says.

I nod, assuming her words are directed at me, until I realize Julian’s opening his mouth, a combative look marring his face.