She was studying my face the way children do when they are trying to decide whether the truth has created danger.
So I did not give her a scene.
I put the cap back on the bottle.
“Get your shoes,” I said. “We’re going to see Dr. Stevens.”
The drive took twelve minutes.
I called the pediatrician’s office while we were on the way and told the receptionist the facts as clearly as I could: Emma was four, the bottle belonged to her grandmother, it was an adult prescription, Emma said she had received one pill every night, and she had been told to keep it secret.
The receptionist’s tone changed before I finished.
“Come straight in,” she said.
She also told me not to give Emma anything else to eat or drink until the doctor saw her.
