I looked at the woman.
She was probably in her late 40s.
She had gone completely serious.
Melissa sighed.
“His heart’s racing or something.”
The woman’s attention snapped to me.
“How old is he?”
“Twelve.”
“How fast?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t count it properly.”
“Is he dizzy?”
“Yes.”
“Chest pain?”
“A little.”
She put down her glass.
“Where is he?”
“Outside,” I said.
She moved toward the door immediately.
Melissa blinked.
“Elaine, it’s probably anxiety.”
The woman stopped.
“Are you a doctor now?”
Melissa looked offended.
“No.”
“I am.”
That changed everything.
Elaine pushed past her and followed me outside.
She walked quickly but calmly toward Noah.
By the time we reached him, he’d slid down and was sitting on the garage step.
Elaine crouched.
“Hey, buddy. I’m Elaine. I’m an emergency physician.”
Noah nodded weakly.
“I’m going to check your pulse, okay?”
She pressed two fingers to his wrist.
Her expression sharpened.
“How long has this been happening?”
“Maybe 15 minutes.”
“Any history of heart problems?”
“No,” I said.
“Any medication?”
“No.”
Elaine looked at Noah.
“Do you feel like you’re going to pass out?”
“Kind of.”
She turned to me.
“Don’t drive him.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“Call an ambulance.”
Melissa had followed us outside.
“What? Seriously?” she said.
Elaine looked at her.
“Yes. Seriously.”
Then she raised her voice toward the house.
“Who owns the black SUV?”
Silence.
Nobody moved.
Elaine stood.
“Someone owns it.”
A woman appeared in the doorway.
She was blonde and had sunglasses pushed onto her head.
She looked annoyed.
“It’s mine.”
I stared at her.
“You heard me ask for it to be moved,” I said.
She shrugged.
“I didn’t realize it was an actual emergency.”
Elaine’s face changed.
“What exactly did you think ‘my son’s heart is racing and his doctor told me to take him to the ER’ meant?”
The woman looked away.
Melissa stepped in. “Okay, everybody, calm down.”
Elaine turned on her. “No.”
Melissa blinked.
Elaine stared at her. “You invited people here and told them they could block her driveway?”
That stopped me.
“What?” I asked.
Melissa said nothing.
The blonde woman looked at her. “You said she never uses it on Saturdays.”
My blood ran cold.
“Excuse me?” I said, staring at Melissa.
She was silent.
The woman with the SUV started talking faster.
“She said it was basically fine. She said you two had some neighbor thing and you just complained because you didn’t like people parking near your house.”
I looked at Melissa.
“All those times?”
Her face went pale.
“That’s not what I said.”
“It is,” another guest said from the doorway.
Now people were coming outside.
One man added, “You told me the same thing last month.”
My heart was pounding now too, though not for the same reason as Noah’s.
“You’ve been telling people they can use my driveway?”
Melissa looked cornered.
“I said you barely use it.”
Elaine cut in.
“Move the SUV. Now.”
The woman finally ran for her keys.
I called emergency services.
Elaine stayed beside Noah.
She kept talking to him.
Asked him questions.
Kept him calm.
His hands had started shaking.
“Mom, am I okay?”
I knelt beside him.
“You’re okay.”
I looked at Elaine.
She gave me the smallest nod.
Not reassurance exactly.
More like, “You’re doing the right thing.”
Behind us, the SUV finally moved.
Melissa stood near her driveway, arms wrapped around herself.
Then Noah tried to stand.
“Mom, I feel—”
He stopped.
His knees buckled.
Elaine caught him before he hit the ground.
“Noah!”
For a few seconds, he stayed conscious, but barely.
His face had gone gray.
Elaine lowered him carefully onto the pavement.
“Stay with me, buddy.”
Melissa made a sound behind us.
Not words.
Just a small, horrified gasp.
The ambulance sirens became audible.
Three minutes earlier, she’d told me she wasn’t going to inconvenience her guests because my son “felt sick.”
Now she was crying.
Actually crying.
Not because anyone had yelled at her.
Because she was watching an emergency physician kneel beside my 12-year-old on the pavement while paramedics pulled onto our street.
The ambulance stopped.
Two paramedics rushed over.
Elaine gave them the information quickly.
“Rapid pulse, dizziness, near-syncope, 12 years old, no known cardiac history.”
They connected Noah to a monitor.
One paramedic looked at the screen.
“SVT.”
I didn’t know what that meant.
“Is that bad?”
“We’ve got him.”
That phrase is both comforting and terrifying.
They loaded Noah onto a stretcher.
I climbed into the ambulance with him.
As the doors were closing, I saw Melissa standing beside her mailbox.
She had both hands over her mouth.
I didn’t care.
Not then.
The ride to the hospital felt like five minutes and five hours at once.
The paramedics treated Noah on the way.
His heart rate eventually slowed.
By the time we reached the emergency department, his color had started to return.
Elaine followed separately.
I didn’t expect her to.
But 20 minutes later, she appeared outside Noah’s room.
“How is he?”
“Better.”
The ER doctor had explained that Noah had experienced an episode of supraventricular tachycardia.
SVT.
An abnormally fast rhythm originating above the heart’s ventricles.
They wanted to monitor him, do some tests, and arrange follow-up with pediatric cardiology.
I looked at Elaine.
“Did the delay hurt him?”
