“Let's get a seat for you,” Rob was saying as he reached for a folding chair. “You look pale.”
“Are you okay?” Micah extended a hand to grab the man's arm as he wobbled and then slumped to the floor.
“Are you all right? Can you hear me?” Micah knelt down, frantically shaking the man's shoulder.
Working quickly, Rob loosened the janitor's shirt and tilted the head back. He leaned near, watching the chest area that failed to rise and fall. Pressing his fingers against the man's neck, he searched for a heartbeat. “No pulse, no breathing,” he said. “Get his arm out of the way,” he ordered, and Micah complied. “He needs to be lying flat”
Micah's own heart raced wildly. Did people really die like this? In gymnasiums on warm Monday afternoons?
“Find a phone, Micah. Call for help,” he instructed then began the required breaths before starting compressions. Micah had taken CPR classes, too, but that had been six months ago. Maybe longer.
“Now, Micah, call,” Rob demanded. “One and two and three and…”
Micah heard Rob count as she ran across the gym toward a phone that she thought she remembered seeing in the kitchen. Grabbing the receiver, she dialed 911. The operator answered after the first ring. Confirm the location? There had been so many different schools she had subbed in this year. “Oh, Lord, help me remember…Wellspring Elementary Schooll Yes, that's it. It's on the corner of Oak and…something…I'm not sure…yes…it's a heart attack, we think…right, no pulse, no breathing… yes, CPR… Please hurry!” she added before ending the conversation. Running back to the south side of the huge gymnasium, her footsteps echoed off the walls in hollow sounds.
“Five minutes,” she said as she knelt beside Rob. “The emergency squad is on its way.”
After the next series of compressions, Rob stopped to check the janitor's pulse. “Still nothing.”
“I can help. I think I remember the two-man compressions,” Micah offered.
Rob nodded, and Micah leaned forward to give the next series of breaths. Less than five minutes later, help arrived. The counting and compressions continued until Rob and Micah were relieved by the rescue team and a pulse was reestablished.
Everyone acted promptly and precisely, and it took only a brief time to transport the man into the waiting emergency vehicle. Soon the squad pulled away, lights flashing, sirens blaring.
“We did it,” Micah said softly in near disbelief as tears filled her eyes. They stood, alone, on the steps outside the school building.
“Don't cry, Micah,” Rob offered as he placed an arm around her shoulders. “We did it. He's still alive.”
“Yes.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I can't believe I actually remembered what I was supposed to do, and did it!”
Rob smiled. “That's what the training is all about.”
“And you…you seemed so calm.”
Rob shook his head. “No, I'm just a good actor. I was as scared as you were.”
They turned and Rob moved his arm away from her as they walked into the gym.
“Have you used CPR before?” Micah inquired.
“No, but the senior partner at the law firm I'm with has a heart problem. He requires all staff members to participate in CPR classes every year. I think he's afraid of dying,” Rob commented with a wry smile while bending over to help pick up the papers and books Micah had dropped when the crisis began. “Some people are, you know.” He looked over at her. “You really did a good job today.”
“Thank you. I think I'll call the hospital tonight to find out how he's doing.”
After all of her belongings had been retrieved, they walked out the side door and entered the gravel parking lot. A sudden gust of wind caught Micah's hair and blew it around her face. “The station wagon is mine.” She pointed to her car while pushing back her hair.
He walked her to the old, well-worn wagon and opened the door for her. “May I ask you a personal question?”
Micah climbed into the driver's seat and looked up at him. “We just saved a man's life together. I guess that entitles you to one personal question.” She smiled.
“You have no husband or children…right?”
“Right.”
“So what does a young, pretty woman like yourself need with a vehicle that seats ten people?”
Micah turned around and pulled back a sheet that covered some of her art supplies. “People aren't what I'm transporting. I need room to haul these supplies and my paintings back and forth to the different art classes I teach and to the festivals where I work in the summer and fall.”
“Festivals? You travel around to festivals?”
“Yes,” she answered, and she draped the sheet back over her frames and other paraphernalia. “Windmill Days, Fourth of July carnivals, Scarecrow Festival…I've sold quite a few paintings that way, and I make some extra money on caricatures.”
“You're an interesting woman, Micah Shepherd,” Rob commented as he closed the car door for her.
“Thank you…I think,” she replied as she picked up her sunglasses from the dashboard and pushed a handful of auburn curls over her shoulder. He was interesting, too. Good manners, thoughtful, caring…
“Could I convince you to have dinner with me?” he asked.
His words might or might not, but those blue eyes definitely could. Sliding her sunglasses into place, the effect of his gaze was not quite as shattering. “I still think Mrs. Winslow drives likes a maniac.”
He smiled. “You're entitled to your opinion. Seven o'clock?”
Seven o'clock. After all, Micah reasoned, he had agreed to come to the job fair because his sister needed him there. He seemed harmless enough. What kind of man was this she was nearly ready to refuse? For heaven's sake, the guy even knew CPR.
“What do you like? Seafood? Steak? Chinese?” he asked.
“Pancakes,” she answered. They could have dinner. Just dinner.
“Pancakes?” Rob repeated with a frown darkening his expression. “That's what you want?”
“That's what I was going to have at home tonight. Pancakes and orange juice. I already owe you a meal for lunch at the restaurant. So will you join me tonight for pancakes?”
“Sounds good,” Rob responded.
“Seven o'clock?” she said.
“I'll see you then.” He waved, and then turned to walk away.
“You'll need my address,” she called after him.
“It's 793 Spring Blossom Avenue. The Winslow file. I have a good memory,” he replied.
Micah drove from the lot and watched his medium-size maroon car follow her a few blocks or so until he turned off on a path of his own. Micah thought briefly of the symbolism. Ultimately, they would go their separate ways. They had to; the choice was not theirs to make. But one dinner with her could not hurt his career or break her heart. Could it?
Micah turned onto a brick street leading through the Village and drove past the numerous shops, restaurants and offices that lined the familiar route to her apartment. Usually she enjoyed looking at the well-kept homes and remodeled brick buildings, but tonight her mind was on her nearly empty refrigerator and cluttered apartment. She hoped he really did like pancakes and orange juice because, except for a possible package of sausages and a bowl of tossed salad,