Every Last Secret(53)

“Not . . . great, actually.” She put a hand on her stomach.

“Would you like to lie down in the guest room? Or head home? Please, don’t feel like you have to stick out the game.” The offers were delivered perfectly, with just the right amount of concern.

“I think I will actually head home.” She reached down and grabbed her shoes.

“Really?” William leaned toward her, concern pinching his features. “Is it your stomach or your head?”

“It’s more like—” She stood, and whatever she was about to say was lost in the forward heave of her body, one that shot a projectile of bloodred vomit all over the front of William’s shirt.





CHAPTER 34

CAT

The vomiting didn’t stop. I left Neena and Matt’s with a paper bag in hand, William running next door to grab our car and pick me up out front. Neena cooed with concern as William opened my door and carefully helped me into the front seat. My vision blurred, and I clutched at his shoulder, relieved when he helped with my seat belt.

“She probably just needs to lie down,” Neena said to William, so quietly that I had to strain to hear the words. “She’s drunk. She’ll sleep it off and be fine in the morning.”

She was wrong. My freshman year of college, I held the chugging record of our sorority. I’ve gone shot for shot with grown men on Valencia Street. I knew what drunk felt like, and this was something else. This felt like, if I took dear Neena’s advice and went to sleep, I’d never wake up. This felt like my stomach was tearing into two and rotting from the inside out. All this had been a mistake. Coming over today. Drinking so much. Eating that nasty chili and stuffing my face with meatballs.

“I’m going to take her to the hospital to be safe.”

“We’ll come with you.” Matt, sweetheart that he was, spoke up without hesitation. “I can follow you in our car.”

“The hospital?” Neena said with an awkward laugh. “William, she’s drunk. Or maybe she has a stomach bug. And Matt, there’s vomit everywhere. I need to clean that up before it sets.”

“We’re going to the hospital,” Matt said firmly. “William, I’ll bring you a clean shirt, unless you want to grab one from my closet before you go.”

“If you can bring one, that would be great. I want to get her there as soon as possible. Neena, thank you for the food and drinks.”

She protested again, but William was already rounding the front of the car and opening the driver’s door, settling in the seat next to me. He reached over and grabbed my hand. “Sit tight, sweetie. I’ll have you at the hospital in just a few minutes.”

A cramp hit my abdomen, and I gasped in pain. “Please hurry.”



“Poisoned?” An hour later, William squinted at the doctor as if he didn’t understand the word. “With what?”

I lay back on the hospital bed and stared at the doctor, trying to keep up with the conversation.

“We’ll know in a few hours. We’ve sent off the stomach contents for testing. In a case like this, we would normally contact the authorities before sharing the information with you. That being said, we understand that this is a delicate situation and wanted to present you with the option of whether to include the police.”

A delicate situation. What an interesting way to refer to the millions of dollars we donated every year. If I had a broken arm and black eye, would we be afforded the same privilege? William looked at me, and we had a long moment of silent communication. I returned my attention to the doctor. “Can you tell how long ago I ate—or drank—whatever made me sick?”

“Sometime in the last few hours. You’re lucky you came right in. We were able to pump out what you didn’t vomit up before the body had a chance to metabolize the chemicals into toxic acids. Once that happened, you could have gone into metabolic acidosis.”

William nodded, as if that jumble of words meant anything, and to him, it might have.

“So, the last twelve hours.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. Eight thirty.

“You had a bagel at breakfast,” William reminded me.

“Right. With coffee and fruit.” I struggled to remember the contents of the plate, which I’d enjoyed on the garden balcony along with my new novel. “Mango and blueberries. There was, um . . . avocado and a poached egg on the bagel.”

“We skipped lunch,” William remarked. “I remember you mentioning how hungry you were on the way to the Ryders’.”

“How did you feel during the day? Any loss of coordination? Fatigue? Headache? Nausea?” The machine beside me began a series of beeps, and the doctor reached over, pressing buttons until the sound ceased.

I frowned, thinking. After a period of time, I shook my head. “I really didn’t start feeling off until halftime of the game. I remember going to the bathroom and feeling queasy.” I gave a rueful laugh. “I thought it was just the alcohol going to my head.”

“The Ryders—those are your friends out in the hallway?”

We both nodded, and the doctor made a notation on his clipboard. “What did you eat at their home?”

“Meatballs and chili. And limoncello.” William answered for me, then tilted his head, thinking. “Did you drink anything other than the limoncello?”