A Thousand Boy Kisses(83)

Poppy’s eyes began to roll, losing focus, but I felt her hand take hold of mine and grip it as hard as she could manage. It was a barely a squeeze.

“Rune,” she tried to say, but her breathing became too fast; she struggled to retain enough air to push out her voice.

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my cell and hit 911. As soon as the operator answered, I reeled off Poppy’s address and informed them of her illness.

Scooping Poppy into my arms, I was about to set into a run when Poppy’s weak palm landed on my face. I glanced down, only to see a tear roll down her cheek. “I’m … I’m … not ready…” she managed to tell me, before her head flopped back and she fought for consciousness.

Despite the tear ripping through my heart at Poppy’s broken spirit and failing body, I leapt into a sprint. Pushing myself harder and faster than ever before.

As I passed by my house, I saw my mamma and Alton in the driveway.

“Rune?” my mamma called, then whispered, “No!” when she saw Poppy hanging limply in my arms.

The sound of the ambulance’s siren blared in the distance. Wasting no time, I kicked through the front door of Poppy’s house.

I ran into the living room; no one was there. “Help!” I screamed as loudly as I could. Suddenly, I heard footsteps running in my direction.

“Poppy!” Poppy’s mama came barreling around the corner as I lowered Poppy to the couch. “Oh my God! Poppy!” Mrs. Litchfield crouched down beside me, pushing her hand over Poppy’s head.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” she asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t know. She just collapsed in my arms. I’ve called for an ambulance.”

Just as those words left my mouth, I heard the sound of the ambulance turning into the street. Poppy’s mama ran out of the house. I watched her go, ice replacing the blood in my veins. I ran my hands through my hair, not knowing what to do. A cold hand landed on my wrist.

I snapped my eyes back to Poppy, and saw her fighting for breath. My face fell at the sight. Dropping down closer, I kissed her hand and whispered, “You’ll be okay, Poppymin. I promise.”

Poppy gasped for breath, but managing to place her palm on my face, she said, almost inaudibly, “Not … going home … yet…”

I nodded my head and kissed her hand, gripping it tightly with my own.

Suddenly, the sound of the EMTs entering the house came from behind me and I stood up to let them past. But as I did, Poppy’s hand tightened on my own. Tears leaked from her eyes. “I’m right here, baby,” I whispered. “I won’t leave you.”

Poppy’s eyes showed me her thanks. The sound of crying came from behind me. As I turned, I saw Ida and Savannah standing to the side, watching, crying in each other’s arms. Mrs. Litchfield moved to the other side of the couch and kissed Poppy’s head. “You’ll be okay, baby,” she whispered, but as she looked up at me, I could see she didn’t believe her own words.

She thought the time had arrived too.

The EMTs put an oxygen mask over Poppy’s face and gathered her onto a gurney. Poppy’s hand still held mine; she refused to let go. As the EMTs moved her out of the house, she never loosened her grip on my hand, her eyes never leaving mine as she fought to keep them open.

Mrs. Litchfield ran behind, but when she saw Poppy’s hand clutching mine so tightly, she said, “You go with Poppy, Rune. I’ll follow straight behind with the girls.”

I could see the conflict on her face. She wanted to be with her daughter.

“I’ll bring them, Ivy, you go with Poppy and Rune,” I heard my mamma say from behind me. I climbed into the back of the ambulance; Mrs. Litchfield joined me.

Even when Poppy’s eyes closed en route to the hospital, she didn’t release my hand. And, as she collapsed into tears beside me, I gave my other hand to Mrs. Litchfield.



*



I stayed by Poppy’s side as she was wheeled into an oncology room. My heart beat as quickly as the doctors and nurses moved—a blur, a mass of activity.

I fought back the lump blocking my throat. I held the numbness inside me at bay. Poppy was being poked and prodded—blood taken, temperature taken, too many things to count. And my baby fought. As her chest became erratic with her inability to breathe properly, she stayed calm. As unconsciousness tried to pull her down, she forced her eyes to remain open … she forced her eyes to stay fixed on mine, mouthing my name whenever she almost slipped under.

I stayed strong for Poppy. I wouldn’t let her see me fall.

She needed me to be strong.

Mrs. Litchfield was beside me, holding my hand. Mr. Litchfield came running in, briefcase in hand, his tie in disarray.

“Ivy,” he said in a hurried voice, “what happened?”

Mrs. Litchfield chased her tears away from her cheeks and took her husband’s hand. “She collapsed on Rune, on the way home from school. The doctors believe it’s an infection. Her immune system is so low she can’t fight it.”

Mr. Litchfield looked to me, as Mrs. Litchfield added, “Rune carried Poppy in his arms all the way home. He ran and called for an ambulance. He saved her, James. Rune saved our girl.”

I swallowed hard as I heard Mrs. Litchfield’s words. Mr. Litchfield nodded, I assumed in thanks, then ran toward his daughter. I saw him squeeze her hand, but the doctors quickly ushered him out of the way.