Page 24 of Cherry Tree Ranch

I open my eyes. “The nurse said she wants me to stay in case I have more seizures.”

He squints callously from across the room. His arms are crossed, and his perfectly starched shirt strains across his puffed-out chest. He’s probably pissed he had to leave work for this.

“Dahlia, what the hell was this about?” he says. “It just cost me my four-thousand-dollar deductible.”

“I’m sorry, Dad,” I say. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am, really. I didn’t mean to get stung.”

“Really?” he asks sarcastically and sits down in the chair. The rubber squeaks in protest. “I’m glad you’re OK, but I’m expecting you to pay for half of this for being so careless. And don’t you dare think you’re getting close to those bees ever again without a suit on.”

My vision warps in and out. I may pass out lying down if that’s possible. Two thousand dollars. Dad’s so happy to throw money at problems, but only on his own terms. All the debts are going to bury me.

I frown at the IV that anchors me here, at the Valium insisting I be agreeable. But I went to the hives without my suit, so technically I was being careless.

“OK,” I say, gritting my teeth. “I’ll figure it out.”

I look away from Dad and fire prickles at my eyes. The sun outside hangs lower, casting a pink glow on the mountainside. It fills the room with warm light – the alpine glow. Now I know what time it is.

“You don’t get it, Dahlia.” He’s calm, but I know him well enough to sense his blood boiling under the surface.

“What don’t I get?”

“That life is expensive, that being an adult is a big responsibility.” He throws his hands in the air. “And who was the guy who brought you here?”

My heart rate spikes on the monitor.

“Just … an acquaintance,” I say, more honestly than I should.

Dad’s eyes bulge. “You trusted your life to someone you hardly know? Again, not an adult decision. I’m going to get some ibuprofen,” he huffs, and he leaves without another word.

I close my eyes, and Cash’s face permeates my mind again, but this time he’s with me in a dimly lit room, drinking wine with me and several others. We’re laughing about something and I lean against his shoulder, relaxed and happy.

My wooziness distorts Cash’s face. One second he looks like himself and the next he transforms into someone else, a guy whose name is on the tip of my tongue. I dig for it in the back of my mind, but before it comes I surrender to a deeper sleep.

“Time to go.” Dad orders me awake.

The fluorescent lights of the room agitate me as I open my eyes. Outside, the sky is as black as coal and a single star is visible beyond the darkness.

Mona gently rubs alcohol on my hand to loosen the tape on my IV. The chill of the evaporating liquid wakes me completely. She looks down and pushes hair out of my eyes.

“Are you feeling good enough to go?” she asks. “The doctor thought you might want to stay overnight.”

“I’m good. Thank you for taking care of me.”

“You’re welcome,” she says. “Don’t let that friend of yours slip away. Seems like a keeper to me.” She hides her face from Dad and winks.

I smile. “He’s full of surprises.”

After Mona makes sure I can walk on my own, the doctor comes in. “So, Dahlia, here are your marching orders: always have your bee suit on if you’re near a hive – or, better yet, let someone else do the bee work,” she says, handing me papers on anaphylactic shock. “Also, you need to keep an EpiPen with you at all times. I’ve called in the prescription.”

“The first isn’t possible. We live on a ranch and I’m the only one doing the work right now, but the pen I can do.” I avoid looking at Dad.

“OK, then.” She sighs in defeat. “Well, any questions for me?”

“What happens if I get stung again?” I ask.

She shows me and Dad the list of major bodily systems that could shut down. Basically, it could be worse next time. Because we live so far from the hospital and the allergy is strong, if I don’t use my EpiPen, it’s possible I could die.

Dad grunts in disbelief.