by Gail Sattler
Uncle Joe and Aunt Ellen gave Bradley a big hug and kiss, along with promises to take him out next weekend, and everyone went their separate ways.
Because they had to go to the diner first, which was in the opposite direction as the airport, Chantelle could tell Uncle Joe was rushing far too much. She didn’t have to check the speedometer to know he was speeding. Before she knew it, they were at the diner. She ran in with Uncle Joe for the laptop and the huge box of receipts. In far less time than it had ever taken her to drive it, they were at the airport. Chantelle thought it only by good fortune that Uncle Joe made it without a ticket.
Chantelle carried the laptop and Uncle Joe carried the box as they hurried into the main terminal, catching up to Mark just as he was collecting his boarding pass. “Here’s your laptop. I guess you’ll want to check this box.”
“Yes. They now have restrictions as to how much you can carry on. I’m certainly not checking my laptop.”
Uncle Joe thunked the heavy box onto the scale. The clerk tagged it and sent it on its way down the conveyor belt.
“You can go to the boarding area now. They’ll be calling for final boarding for your flight in about half an hour. Have a pleasant flight, and thank you for flying with us.”
Mark tucked the boarding pass into his shirt pocket. “Let’s go have a coffee. We’ll just have to listen carefully for the last boarding call and keep an eye on the time so I can run in at the last minute.”
When everyone stepped toward the cafeteria, Chantelle turned around to ask if anyone knew the way to the ladies’ room. At the same time she opened her mouth to speak, Uncle Joe’s footsteps faltered. He reached out and touched Aunt Ellen’s arm, causing her to stop as well.
“It’s so hot in here,” he mumbled, swiping at his brow with his forearm.
Chantelle glanced to the windows and the warm sunshine outside. The afternoon had been hot, but it was now after six and not as stifling as it had been earlier. Inside, the airport’s air-conditioning made it much cooler than outside. And for a man who thought it was hot, Uncle Joe’s face was alarmingly pale.
Chantelle stopped walking and faced her uncle. “Uncle Joe? Are you okay?”
Everyone in their group slowly shuffled to a halt and also turned when Uncle Joe stopped walking.
“I’m fine,” he said, but his voice came out strained. “Maybe I need to sit dow—”
His voice trailed off as his face paled even more. Both eyes widened, his mouth opened, and he pressed both hands to his chest. Instead of gasping for air, Uncle Joe stiffened, then crumpled to the floor, knocking down a number of the chrome posts as he fell.
Mark thrust his laptop at Chantelle, letting go before she had a chance to grab it properly. While she stood in one spot fumbling with Mark’s laptop, Mark ran to her uncle and dropped to the ground on his hands and knees.
“Joe!” he called out as he pressed his fingers into his throat. “Can you respond? Say something!”
He waited for only two seconds, but they were the longest two seconds of Chantelle’s life.
Uncle Joe didn’t move. He’d paled even more; his skin was a ghastly shade of pale gray.
Mark lifted his head. “Call 9-1-1 and page a doctor!” he called out to the woman at the check-in counter. “I think he’s having a heart attack!”
Chantelle watched as time moved in slow motion. She forced herself to breathe as she stood, her feet frozen to the floor.
Mark raised his head, keeping his fingertips pressed to Uncle Joe’s throat. “Does anyone know CPR?”
Everyone around them stood stiff, not even moving enough to shake their heads.
“I hope I’m doing this right,” Mark muttered. “God, help me.”
Mark tilted Uncle Joe’s head back and pinched his nose. He breathed into Uncle Joe’s mouth, backed off enough to quickly inhale another rush of air, then blew into Uncle Joe’s mouth a second time.
Remaining on his knees, Mark shuffled a few inches down, flattened his palms on Uncle Joe’s chest, and, with straight arms, pushed down onto Uncle Joe’s chest. He pumped rapidly ten times, counting as he pumped, blew two more puffs into Uncle Joe’s mouth, and pumped again.
Uncle Joe’s body twitched slightly, causing Mark to stop. “Joe!” Mark called into his face; but when no response or further movement happened, Mark continued with the artificial respiration, followed by more pumping.
A woman wearing jeans and a tie-dyed T-shirt covered in paint ran up to Mark. She tossed her purse to the side and dropped to her knees on the opposite side of Uncle Joe from Mark. “I’m a doctor. Heart attack? Has someone called an ambulance?”
“Yes, someone’s called.”
The woman felt for a pulse. “Nothing,” she muttered. She tipped Uncle Joe’s head back a little more and pinched his nose. “I’ll do mouth-to-mouth, you keep pumping.”
“I’ve never done this before. I don’t know how many times.”
The woman blew two times into Uncle Joe’s mouth. “Two breaths, fifteen pumps. Quickly. Now.”
They continued two more repetitions. Halfway through the third repetition, Mark stopped abruptly. His face visibly paled. “I heard a snap. I think I broke something.”
Chantelle’s stomach churned and she felt faint. If she thought she could get her feet to move, she would have sat down. Instead, she remained where she was, her heart pounding, her head swimming, wondering if she were going to be the next to fall down. “God, please, don’t let him die,” she whimpered, clutching Mark’s laptop like a life preserver.
“Don’t stop,” the doctor said firmly, but gently. “Right now a cracked rib is the least of his problems.”
Even from where she was, Chantelle could see Mark’s hands shaking as he once more pressed down onto Uncle Joe’s chest and continued, counting from eight to fifteen. As soon as he stopped, the woman blew two more breaths. Mark was just about to resume when suddenly Uncle Joe sputtered. His whole body jerked, and he began to cough. The woman quickly reached to his throat. “We have a pulse!” she called out for all to hear, then raised herself up slightly, remaining low to Uncle Joe’s face, but far enough to allow him to focus on her in his weakened condition.
“Stay still, Sir. You’ve had a heart attack. I’m a doctor. You’re at the airport, and an ambulance is on the way. Can you understand me?”
He nodded his head without lifting it from the floor, then visibly sagged. His teeth started chattering.
From the other side, Mark rubbed one hand along Uncle Joe’s arm, trying to help restore some circulation, then gripped Uncle Joe’s hand. “Joe? It’s me. Mark. I’m right here. Every-thing is going to be okay.”
A siren sounded in the distance, coming closer, until Chantelle could see the pulsing red of the lights reflecting on the glass doors leading to the parking lot. Within seconds, the ambulance attendants rushed in, carrying their black bags.
The doctor didn’t get up but motioned the attendants to the ground with her. She mumbled some kind of medical jargon while the attendants took Uncle Joe’s vital signs. They hurried away, leaving the doctor on the floor, and quickly returned with the portable gurney.
Chantelle watched as they gently moved Uncle Joe onto the thin mattress, strapped him in, and raised the gurney. Aunt Ellen ran to his side, holding his hand while they wheeled him away.
Chantelle stood in silence as the men pushed the gurney through the doorway and into the back of the waiting ambulance. Aunt Ellen scrambled into the back with one of the men, and the ambulance squealed away, lights flashing, siren screaming.
Hank, Leslie, Mark, and Chantelle shuffled to stand closer together, forming a tight-knit circle. Chantelle hadn’t noticed the crowd until the moment they began to disperse. Around them, the bustle of the airport resumed as the curious onlookers hurried away, the excitement over. Already, only a minute after the ambulance was gone, it was as if nothing had happened, and everything was back to normal.
Chantelle didn’t think her life would e
ver be normal again.
She and Mark turned at the same time to thank the doctor, but the woman had already disappeared into the crowd.
Above them, a voice blared from the speaker, announcing final boarding for Mark’s flight.
Chantelle passed Mark his laptop. “You’d better hurry.”
“I can’t leave now. I have to know how Joe is. There’s always another flight, but there’s only one Joe. I’ll catch another flight home when I know he’s okay.”
Leslie glanced toward the door, the last place they’d seen Joe before he disappeared into the ambulance. “I guess they’re going to General here in town.”
“Excuse me,” Chantelle mumbled. “I’ll be right back.” Without explaining herself, Chantelle ran through the room, quickening her pace when she saw the sign pointing out the location of the washrooms. After relieving herself, she splashed a large handful of cold water on her face and swiped some water into her hair. For lack of anything better to do with her hands, she pressed her palms to the cold aluminum countertop.
She stared at herself in the mirror, but she didn’t see her face. All she could see was Mark and the anonymous doctor hunched over Uncle Joe, performing the life-saving CPR.
Uncle Joe.
Chantelle squeezed her eyes shut and once more said a prayer, begging God to spare her uncle’s life. While the cold water clung to her face, hot tears seeped from her tightly closed eyes and dripped down her cheeks.
She’d done nothing. In the moment of crisis, she had frozen. All she did was watch, while Mark probably saved her uncle’s life.
She’d been totally and utterly useless.
Chantelle opened her eyes and stared at her pathetic reflection.
She wasn’t going to make a deal with God. But she could and would make a deal with herself.
Today, she’d failed Uncle Joe. But from here on, she would do anything and everything within her power to help him. She couldn’t do anything to help him heal except pray for him, but while he recovered, even if she had to work seven days a week, she would be the best waitress Joe’s Diner ever had. Through her work at the restaurant, she would make up to Uncle Joe for her failure today. And that she could promise to Uncle Joe, to herself, and to God.
Chantelle stiffened her posture and ripped a section of paper towel from the dispenser. She blotted her face dry and dabbed her eyes, then marched with confidence and determination to rejoin Mark and his parents. When someone needed help, she would never stand by and do nothing again.
From this moment on, the world would see a new Chantelle Dubois.
Five
Mark waited at the ticket counter while the attendant made arrangements to have his suitcase and the box of the diner’s business records retrieved from the plane and put into storage at the baggage claim area of the airport until he could come back and retrieve it. On the outside, he stood tall, his demeanor businesslike and professional; inside, he was shaking like a leaf.
Joe.
Joe had almost died. Mark wasn’t sure Joe still wouldn’t die. Plus, in his efforts to save Joe, Mark had injured him further. The doctor had told him it hadn’t mattered, but Mark knew it did. Whatever pain Joe was experiencing in the aftermath of a serious heart attack, Mark had made it worse.
He wished there were something he could do, but the situation was out of his hands.
The attendant hung up the phone. “I’m sorry about your friend, Sir, but I’m sure he’s receiving the best medical care now.”
Mark turned to look at the glass doors leading to outside, the last place he’d seen Joe as the rear doors of the ambulance shut.
Joe was more than a friend. Because Marella was his age, his family had spent a lot of time with Joe and Ellen as he grew up. He’d spent so much time with them that strangers often thought he and Marella were brother and sister, or at least cousins, when they weren’t really related at all, at least not by blood. Since Joe never had a son, on a typical “boys’ night out,” Mark, his dad, Uncle Jack, and Joe often went to ball games and other such activities together. As a young adult, working at the diner while going to college, he spent more time with Joe than he had with his father, cementing a bond that would never be broken.
He couldn’t leave now. Not until he knew Joe would be okay.
He turned back to the attendant. “Thank you. I hope so.”
“I’ve made the arrangements for your luggage to be stored for you. At your convenience, just come to the baggage claim area and present two pieces of ID to the agent there, and that’s all you need to do. We have another flight with open seats leaving at 10:37 p.m. I can give you a discount because of the nature of why you missed your original flight.” Her hands hovered over the keyboard as she waited for his reply.
Mentally counting on his fingers, Mark calculated that with the two-hour time change, the flight would be arriving at just about the right time to get to work in the morning, which he could handle if he had a nap on the plane.
He turned his head and once more looked at the glass doors.
He didn’t want to go to work. He wanted to be sure that Joe was going to be okay. Mark wanted to talk to him, to be assured that even though there would be a long recovery period, that everything would be fine—even if it meant staying at the hospital all night. For one day, his boss could go in early to open the office for the rest of the staff, and Darren could handle the students from the local business college. “Thank you, no. I’ll rebook later. Thanks for the help with my luggage. Good night.”
Mark spun around and joined his parents, who were waiting at the outer perimeter of the check-in area.
“When is your return flight?” his father asked. “Do you have to stay here, or do you want to go back to the house to wait?”
“I didn’t book. I want to go to the hospital to see Joe.” He turned from his father to his mother. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”
His mother tipped her head up. Instead of speaking, her eyes welled up with unshed tears. Beside her, his father stood stark still. Mark could only imagine how worried they were, as their bond of friendship with Joe, like his, went deep.
When his mother finally spoke, her chin quivered and her voice trembled. “I don’t know.”
Instead of speaking, his father reached over to enclose his mother’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, and their fingers intertwined.
Mark stared down at their joined hands. The obvious show of affection shouldn’t have surprised him. In times of trouble, grief, and especially in times of uncertainty, his parents had each other to lean on.
In that way, all three couples he’d grown up with were the same.
Like his parents, Uncle Jack and Aunt Susan shared the same bond. He knew that his aunt was worried about his uncle, but at least everyone knew his uncle would get better, even if he never gained full mobility in his right leg. Whatever happened, regardless of the outcome, they would always be together.
Even more than his parents or his aunt and uncle, Joe and Ellen often shared the same thoughts. They could finish each other’s sentences and often did. They even shared the same quirky sense of humor. Joe and Ellen were two halves of a whole. But unlike his aunt and uncle, no one yet knew if Joe would live or die. In his mind’s eye, Mark could see Ellen sitting all alone in the waiting area of the hospital, waiting for news, good or bad. He couldn’t imagine what she was going through.
Mark stared absently into the airport crowd. He didn’t know why, but his attention centered on those who were coupled together, holding hands as they walked. When one slowed, the other slowed their pace to match. Even when they weren’t touching, those coupled together stayed as close together as possible, even in the crowd.
Suddenly, Mark felt incredibly alone.
For the first time in his life, he wondered if somewhere out there was a woman who wasn’t necessarily perfect, but was perfect for him—someone who could be as perfect a match for him as the good examples he’d had in his life.
He lik
ed to be organized; at work, he prided himself on his efficiency, and he worked hard. One day he hoped all the extra hours and dedication he put into the company would strengthen his chances for advancement, even a future partnership. Like him, his perfect mate would be focused and calm, an ambitious professional with a good college education and a promising future. Someone with diverse interests, but yet not easily distracted, using sound judgment in all situations, both in business and leisure activities. Visions of Chantelle flashed through his mind. She was everything his ideal was not. Yet, something about her piqued his interest and left him wishing he didn’t live so far away.
“Mark! Leslie! Hank! There you are!”
Mark flinched, able to hear Chantelle’s voice before he could see her, probably because she was so short.
Just as he was able to pick out her blond hair in the moving crowd, she emerged. “Sorry it took me so long. I accidentally turned the wrong way and then got lost in the crowd. I went back to where I thought the washrooms were to get my bearings, but I must have followed the wrong signs to the wrong washroom and ended up in the other wing of the airport, and I had to ask directions how to get back to the check-in counters and. . .” Her voice trailed off. “I think I’m rambling. Sorry. I’m back. What should we do now?”
“I think we were going to go to the hospital, right, Dad?”
“Yes. Even if we can’t see Joe, we shouldn’t leave Ellen all alone. At the very least, we should do something about their car. We can’t just leave it here. Chantelle, I know you came with Joe and Ellen. You can certainly stay with us until we figure out what to do.”
“I’m sure Aunt Ellen will want to stay at the hospital. If someone will drive me back here later, I can get the keys from her and drive the car back to the hospital so she can use it.”
“Good idea. Let’s get going.”
Mark’s father drove and his mother sat in the front, leaving Mark to share the backseat with Chantelle.
