Caela—Friday, 4 a.m. GMT
“Explain to me why we’re doing this again.” Haley slid her sunglasses from the front seat of her rusty green convertible.
I pulled open the passenger side door and sank into the tan seat. “Because I need new clothes in general, and you need something to wear to the party tonight.”
“Uh-huh.” Haley glanced in her rearview mirror and pulled out onto the curving road. “Remind me why I am going to a party tonight with a bunch of people who will spend the whole event looking down on or ignoring me.”
I squinted and pulled the sun visor down to block the morning sun’s aggressive glare. “Because you want to talk to Spencer in a non-work setting.”
“Right. And we’re totally ignoring that the last time he talked to me at all, he spent most of the conversation asking about you.” She waved a hand to prevent the next words from my mouth. “Whatever. You want social support at this party, you’ve got it. Just remember this next time I need to trade shifts.” At least the rich tourists having this party should be serving the good liquor.
I considered insisting that I thought she and Spencer made a far better pair than he and I did, if only because she could tolerate him and I limited my attachments to celestial beings who failed to see me in a romantic light, but I decided that actions spoke louder than words, at least in matchmaking.
“I picked the Twin View Mall because it’s the closest,” Haley said a bit later as she turned the car onto the presumably aptly named Mall Boulevard. “But it’s a bit on the pricy side. That probably won’t make a difference to you, but you’ll have to forgive my poor college-bound bank account if it decides not to put in an appearance to impress the unimpressible.”
I laughed as we drove toward the looming Nordstrom’s sign on the side of the large brick facade. “Well, if you find something you can’t live without, I might be inclined to share my wealth.” Her brow furrowed, but it was my turn to wave her off. “I can afford it. Besides, you’re doing me a favor.”
Within minutes, Haley parked her convertible in a shady spot near the food court entrance and had raised the hard top. We strolled into the mall and took our time exploring. Buying clothes in a store instead of having them made for me—or making them myself—still seemed strange, so I remained unacquainted with modern retail chains. I let Haley pick the stores, and within a few hours I had tried on enough tops and capris to fill a dozen wardrobes and had purchased enough clothes that I wouldn’t have to repeat an outfit before the end of September, assuming the weather lasted that long.
“Come on, you have to let me buy you that.” I admired Haley’s reflection in the mirror outside the dressing room in her favorite store—save the best for last, she’d said. She wore a lovely teal halter dress with a floaty knee-length skirt and gold sequins at the waist. “You’ve been so good and patient with all my shopping, and that dress was made for you.”
Haley bit her lip as she turned from side to side, fingering the swish of the filmy skirt. “I don’t know. I feel weird taking your money.”
“Don’t. I can’t possibly spend it all, and you can’t possibly take more from me than my friend Bedlam.” I gave her a small push toward the dressing room. “Go change back, and we’ll get the dress.”
“You have a friend who sponges off you from afar? Or does he live in Pennsylvania?” A flash of aqua chiffon appeared above the dressing room door as Haley lifted it over her head.
I looked in the three-way mirror and watched my lips turn downward. “He follows me wherever I go, but he hasn’t gotten here yet. Give it a few weeks, and you’ll be so used to him, you won’t remember ever thinking of Caela without the accompanying Bedlam.”
The dressing room door rattled as Haley bumped against it. “Ooh, maybe he can help out at the bar.” I wonder if he’s cute.
I let out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, right. If you didn’t mind a shot of Clamato added to all your drinks.” I leaned in closer to the mirror and wiped a smudge of mascara off my cheek. “And you don’t want to date Bedlam. If his inability to remember your name doesn’t convince you of that, I’ll be happy to spend hours pointing out all his bad qualities.”
Haley stepped into her jeans without removing the black strappy sandals on her feet. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” Did I say that out loud about him being cute? Well, she wouldn’t have warned me off an ugly boy, so I’m taking it as a “Yes.”
“Sorry.” My reflection cringed. Once again, I’d answered unspoken words. Some habits refused to die. “Years of experience warning people off Bedlam.”
The thwick of the lock anticipated the door bursting open to reveal Haley clad once more in her white T-shirt and jeans with the dress hanging over her arm. “Does it work?” If he’s cute, he can’t be that bad. Maybe she wants him all to herself.
I turned away from my grim expression in triplicate and made a mental note to speed up the pairing of Haley and Spencer before she decided to set her sights on someone who wasn’t even going to notice she was a girl unless she decided to change her name to Keziel, and then it would be to dismiss her as a hopelessly inadequate imitation, unworthy of the name. I’d had more than a few friends for one never-ending lifetime who’d made that mistake.
After I paid for Haley’s dress, I handed her the bag and felt a pang of warmth at the smile she couldn’t keep off her face. I liked doing nice things for people, something I had forgotten about with all the time I spent sequestered in Philadelphia.
“At least let me buy you lunch.” Haley reached out and we exited the store arm in arm. “I’ll treat you to the best Panda Express and Cinnabon have to offer.”
“Well, if you insist.” I let her lead me down the mall.
“So if you’re so rich, why don’t you start a foundation or something to help people?” Haley glanced in the windows of one of the few clothing shops we had not perused. “Not that I mind using your generosity to expand my wardrobe, but couldn’t you be doing bigger things?”
“I don’t know.” A citrusy hint of Satsuma floated on the current of air, wafting from a display of bath gels to our right. “I guess I could never decide what cause to focus on.” The concept of foundations still seemed new to me, and I didn’t know what cause meant more to me than any other. More than anything, I supported justice in determining whether people spent eternity in Heaven or Hell, but I didn’t think further funds would solve that problem.
“You should think about it. A lot of people could use the help.” Haley gestured to the right and we turned into the bustling food court.
Restaurants of all shapes and sizes—pizza, burgers, Mexican, Chinese, Japanese, deli sandwiches, gourmet pretzels, frozen yogurt—lined the high-ceilinged circular room, and the part of me that had spent most of her life eating barley cakes marveled at the selection. The hum of a few hundred voices and the smell of grease filled the air. We hurried over to a square faux-wooden table with two remaining maroon plastic chairs, set between a mash of four tables forced together to feed what looked like an office party and another table the same size as ours that had twice as many chairs surrounding it as it did sides.
I placed my bags down on the table top and collapsed into one of the chairs, though the hard plastic against my back didn’t feel as soothing as I had hoped.
I waved Haley toward the restaurants. “You go get what you want. I’ll hold the table. Then we can switch.”
Haley raised an eyebrow at me. “You sure you don’t want to go first?”
I stretched my feet out and propped them on the legs of the table. “Nah. Then I’d feel obliged to wait to eat until you got back with your food, and by then my meal would be cold.”
Haley placed her bag on the remaining seat. “Suit yourself. As long as you don’t expect me to do you the same courtesy.” She wandered off into the crowd.
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. I hadn’t realized how sore the soles of my feet were. I rotated my left arm at the shoulder to work out the kink in it from carrying all those bags. My vision blurred as my head spun.
I sat up straight and put a hand on my chest, making sure to take a deep breath, but my breathing had been steady. These weren’t my symptoms; someone around me was experiencing the symptoms of a heart attack.
I focused my attention on my surroundings and the cacophony of individual voices competing to be heard over the dull roar of other speakers and the clunk of plastic trays.
Help me.
Even his thoughts felt strained. If his pain was this strong, the man had to be near me. I stopped my search when I found a nearly bald man—tufts of white hair in a fringe—in his mid-to-late-sixties seated with his back toward me.
I hurried over to him, clasping a blue polo-shirt-clad shoulder as I rushed around to face him. “Sir, are you all right?”
The man’s breath hitched as he looked up at me, his face flushed red.
I squeezed his shoulder a little tighter. “It’s going to be all right.” I turned to the amalgam of other tables all clustered together next to me. I reached for the arm of a young raven-haired woman. “Excuse me. Can you call 911? This man is having a heart attack.”
I’ll look like an idiot if I’m calling 911 for no reason. The young woman twisted her lips as she looked where I was pointing. I guess he does look pretty bad. She pulled out her cell phone and pushed the buttons, glancing up at me between each digit, as if hoping I would stop her to say, “Just kidding!”
Once she’d called the ambulance, I sat down next to the distressed man and rubbed my hand along his arm. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do to help someone having a heart attack, other than hope the emergency responders lived up to their name.
Aspirin. I remembered reading that hospitals gave aspirin to heart attack patients. I had grabbed some out of the bathroom at my new house and stuck it in my bag, disappointed not to find ibuprofen or something I found useful for headaches. But it might save this man’s life.
I dug through my purse and pulled out the white bottle with the faded yellow label. I pushed two white circular pills into the man’s trembling hands and bade him to swallow them. As he gulped them down, Haley reappeared over my shoulder.
“What’s going on?” She placed an orange plastic tray on our table and came over to stand next to me.
I gestured to the man and was about to explain when he gave a cough and slackened in his chair. I jumped forward and checked his neck for a pulse. When I didn’t find one, I rose, searching the crowd.
No one would answer if I didn’t ask them directly. “Does anyone know CPR?” I had taken a class back in the ’70s and tried to keep up with the skill, but I hadn’t taken a refresher in ten years, and I was pretty sure my methods were out of date. I turned back toward the large table and repeated my question, louder. The diners stared at their food, their hands, each other—anything to avoid meeting my gaze.
“No one’s going to help you.” Haley leaned against our table and crossed her arms. Thank God I don’t know CPR. “You’re way more likely to get sued than thanked for trying to resuscitate someone.”
I whipped my head around to look at her, prepared to snap at her “Express a greater faith in humanity,” when I caught a thought.
I did take that training last year. My eyes scanned the crowd until I caught the middle-aged woman with short, straight light brown hair who’d had the thought. But I don’t know. I’m sure he’ll be fine.
I placed my hands flat on the table, pushing back the two people on either side of me, and leaned forward to meet the woman’s brown eyes. “He will not be fine. This man is dying right now, and if you have even the slightest chance of saving him, I’m begging you to take it.”
The woman’s lower lip quivered, but she continued to meet my gaze. She inhaled and then rose, hurrying over to stand beside me and the man and eyed his slumped figure.
She made her decision. “Help me get him to the ground.”
She straightened his legs as I reached under his arms, and we both lifted him and placed him on the stained white-tiled floor. The woman took another deep breath as she put her unsteady hands on top of the man’s chest and began compressions.
Two blue-clad men with navy hats entered the food court wheeling an elaborate stretcher with tubes and monitors hanging off it. I let out a sigh of relief and rose, waving with enough fervor that the EMTs headed right for us.
A buff EMT with dark hair peeking out from under his cap went to work on the unconscious man, while a skinny one with orange-red hair addressed me. “Were you the one who called 911, miss?”
I shook my head. “I don’t have a cell phone. She called.” I inclined my head toward the appropriate woman, who like the rest of her table, watched the proceedings on the floor with rapt attention. “I noticed he was having a heart attack, and I gave him this.” The aspirin rattled as I handed the bottle to the EMT. “Then he passed out, and this woman offered to do CPR.”
He glanced at the label. “You don’t know him, then?”
I shifted from one foot to the other. “No. I guess I should have looked for a phone and tried to call his relatives or something, but I didn’t have time.”
“It’s fine. We’ll take care of it.” He sniffed. “I wish more people were as on-the-ball as you. I’m going to help now.”
Haley, the reluctant helper, and I stood and watched as the EMTs defibrillated the man. The CPR woman made an audible sigh of relief and relaxed into a small smile when they were able to get a pulse back. The EMTs lifted the man onto the gurney and carted him out of the food court.
I collapsed into my chair and asked Haley if I could have some of her soda. She nodded and within a moment cola bubbles covered my tongue. I relished the taste of sweet, syrupy liquid as it ran down my throat.
Haley leaned forward. “How did you know he was having a heart attack? He looked fine when I got back, and then he collapsed.”
My heart sank. I should have expected the questions. “He wasn’t fine. He was all shaky, and his face was red. I people-watched while I waited for you to get back, and his discomfort was obvious. I’ve seen people have heart attacks before.” More times than you would think, before we even knew what the heart did.
“And how did you know that woman knew CPR? I mean, chances are someone at the table did, but you went right to her!”
I waved my hand by my head, as if I were trying to think of something. “Like you said. That Latané and Darley book from the ’70s. When there are lots of people around, they don’t recognize something as an emergency, so they don’t help. I figured I’d go through them one at a time. Lucky for the guy that the first one I picked knew CPR.”
I didn’t blame Haley for still looking skeptical.
I gestured at her food. “Go on. Eat. Or go get some new food, if you want. That’s probably cold by now.” I took another long sip of soda. “And then let’s get out of here. I’ve had enough of this mall.”