|
 "One of today's best women's fiction authors,"* USA Today bestselling author Barbara Bretton returns with the wry and tender story of Kate French-a woman who's learning that her brush with death might give her a whole new life...
It all started with a red lace thong. Normally Kate is a twin set and pearls kind of girl who wouldn't be caught dead in such a thing. But that's exactly what happens when sudden chest pains leave her lying in a parking lot with her skirt hiked up around her hips for all of Princeton to see.
It's a man in a Grateful Dead t-shirt who saves her life, and then disappears without a trace. A total stranger-and yet Kate would give anything to see him again. How is she to know that her mystery man is planning a new, far-away life for himself, one that doesn't include romance, even if he can't seem to get the woman in red lace out of his mind?
Romance isn't high on Kate's list of priorities either. But when the handsome good Samaritan shows up on her doorstep, they discover that even the strongest heart is no match for love...
For a sneak preview . . .
Just Like Heaven – March 2007 from Berkley Books
Chapter Two
He knew the moment it happened. The spark that made her all that she was went out. The ambulance was still a good six or seven minutes away. She didn't have six minutes. The window of opportunity was shrinking with every second.
"Come on!" he urged her. "Don't leave us now!"
She wasn't breathing. That rapid pulse was still.
"What's going on?" A woman with two kids paused to look.
"She passed out," he said as he stretched her flat and tilted her chin up. This wasn't the time for full disclosure.
"What's up?" A man leaned out of his open car window to look.
"He says she passed out," the woman said.
"Does he know what he's doing?"
The woman with the kids moved closer. "Do you know what you're doing?" she asked.
"CPR," he said as he cleared the airway. "I'm trained."
"Is she sick?" another voice from behind. "Want me to call somebody?"
He cleared the redhead's airway and tried to block out everything but the task at hand.
"What's he doing?" a man asked. "Did anyone call the cops?"
"She's having a heart attack. The ambulance is coming."
"Who are you?" the first voice demanded again. "Do you know what you're doing?"
They were all talking at once and the voices got tangled in the wind and the bird song and the low roar of cars moving along Route 1 while the red-haired woman drifted farther out of reach.
Focus, he told himself.
In the far distance he heard a siren.
Block everything else out and focus.
He checked her carotid artery for a pulse. There was no sign of respiration.
A surge of anger filled his chest. This wasn't her time. He knew it in his bones. Nothing happened without a reason. God had put them in this place at this moment and it was up to him to take it from there.
He filled his lungs, tilted her head back, pinched her nose, then slowly blew air into her open mouth and watched her chest slowly rise.
He waited a second, refilled his lungs, then did it again.
Still nothing.
The sound of the siren grew closer.
He placed the flat of his hands on her chest then pushed down hard and fast.
Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten. . .
"You're hurting her!" A shrill voice pierced his concentration.
"He knows what he's doing." A different voice, also nearby.
Nothing. Still no pulse. No respiration.
He tilted her head back, pinched her nose shut, then tried to breathe life into her still body, once then twice.
Again he placed his hands on her chest. Her bones felt delicate and breakable. She would have bruises when this was over. He positioned his hands and pushed down quickly again and again and again. "Come on . . . come on . . . I'm not going to let you go . . . work with me . . . breathe . . . you can do it . . . breathe!"
The commentary around him didn't let up.
"That's not how you do it."
"Yes, it is."
"He doesn't know what he's doing."
"She moved! I saw her arm move!"
. . . eleven twelvethirteenfourteen . . . fifteensixteenseventeen. . .
The sound was harsh, rasping, the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. She was breathing on her own. Her pulse was shallow but it was there and he sent up a prayer of gratitude. Her lips were moving but he couldn't make out what she was saying. It didn't matter. She was still with him.
"You're going to be okay," he said as the ambulance screeched to a halt a few feet away from them. "Help is here."
Their eyes locked. He started to say more but realized his words didn't matter. She was looking straight through to his heart. He took her hand and she clung to him and for a moment nothing else in the world mattered.
"So what have we got here?" a tall female responder asked. The name "Emily" was embroidered across her breast pocket.
"Possible heart attack," Mark said. "She stopped breathing and I did CPR."
"Good thinking. How long was she gone?"
"Ten seconds. No more than that."
Emily bent down over the red-haired woman. "I'm Emily and that's Bill over there. We're here to make you comfortable. Are you in pain?"
Her hazel eyes fluttered closed then open again.
"I'll take that as a yes. Can you tell me your name?"
She tried but couldn't. Her grip on Mark's hand tightened. Her breathing was rapid, shallow, and he could sense that she was slipping away again. Her hands were long and slender. Her nails were painted a pale pinkish ivory color. Her only jewelry was a man's round faced watch with a black leather strap. Emily reached for the small shoulder purse slung across the red-haired woman's body, opened it and looked inside.
"Good. She has a wallet. Admissions can check for ID."
Emily pushed back the crowd of onlookers. Bill pulled a stretcher from the ambulance and wheeled it over. The two technicians quickly lifted the red-haired woman onto it and rushed her back to the ambulance where they were going to attach a 12-lead EKG that would transmit information straight to the ER via cell phone so they could direct her to the best facility.
"You can't go with us," Emily said to him. She was a physically intimidating woman. He had no doubt she'd use force if she had to.
"I'm not leaving." Not with the red-haired woman's hand gripping his. Not with her hazel eyes fixed on him like he was all that stood between her and the great unknowable.
"I promised I'd stay with her," he said.
"Are you related?"
He shook his head.
"Sorry. We're going to St. Francis. You can follow if you want."
"I'm staying with her," he said then pulled out his own ID and flashed it. This was a promise he didn't intend to break.
Emily looked at it and shrugged.
"I guess we can make an exception," Bill said, looking over Emily's shoulder.
It was a tight fit inside the ambulance. Bill climbed back behind the wheel and Mark tried to stay out of Emily's way as she affixed the leads to the red-haired woman's chest and legs.
"Shit." Emily checked her monitors.
Fear turned his blood to ice. "What's wrong?"
"I can't get a good connection. We'll have to take her straight to St. Francis and let them sort it out." She shook her head in disgust and reached for the receiver attached to the side wall. "The connection's down . . . we're bringing her in . . . female . . . thirty-five . . . breathing on her own . . . pulse 122 . . . respiration 78 . . . BP 98 over 52 . . . complained of chest and back pain, nausea before she passed out . . . passerby administered CPR after she stopped breathing . . . we're four minutes out . . . okay . . . will do."
A light film of sweat covered the red-haired woman's face. Her beautiful hazel eyes were wide with fear and pain.
Emily opened a packet and popped out a pill. "Chew this," she forced the white tablet between the woman's lips. "It's aspirin," she said to Mark. "It won't hinder further treatment."
The red-haired woman looked up at him and he nodded. He felt ridiculously happy when she started to chew. He wondered if she understood what was going on or if she was running on auto-pilot. It had been a long time since he had been this important to anyone. Not even to himself.
"We're almost there," he said to her, his mouth pressed close to her ear. "They'll run an EKG, check your blood gases . . . you don't have to worry . . . it's all going to be okay."
This wasn't the place for the truth. He didn't know if she would be okay. This was the real world, a place where unspeakable things happened to people who deserved so much better. You had to hold on to something bigger than yourself, a belief in something that could make sense out of chaos.
If he could give her that much, he would be happy.
She was trying to say something, clearly frustrated by her inability to make herself understood. He leaned closer still but couldn't make out her words. The oxygen mask hissed softly. A lock of auburn hair lay across her cheek, silky and cool to the touch, and he gently tucked the strands behind her ear. She smelled of spring. He didn't want to know that.
She pressed on his hand and looked past him. He turned around and saw the metal box resting on a jump seat. "That's yours, right?" Again the closed/open movement of her eyelids. "I'll make sure it stays with you."
The ambulance wheeled into the driveway at St. Francis and braked to a stop at the entrance to the ER. The back doors swung open and the woman was swept away from him on a wave of urgency. She cried out, whether from surprise or pain he didn't know. He grabbed the metal box and ran after her but was turned away at the door.
"Patients only," the burly security guard said. "Use the entrance around the corner."
"Look, can't you make an exception? I promised I'd stay with her. She'llÑ"
"She's not going anywhere. Use the other entrance."
He ran full out to the corner then realized it was the wrong corner. He doubled back, maneuvered around a pair of ambulances, turned the other corner and waited for the automatic doors to open into an empty hallway posted with signs for the cafeteria, radiology, physical therapy, and emergency. He wound his way through a labyrinth of corridors with offshoots leading deeper into the interior of the hospital. He flagged down an intern who assured him he was running in the right direction.
He passed the turnoff for radiology and had just cleared the door to physical therapy when he heard his name.
"Mark? Mark! Hey, man, I thought that was you."
He looked over his shoulder. Jacob Margolies, one of his neighbors, was grinning up at him from his wheelchair, fresh from physical therapy.
"Jake, I'm in a rush. Can we catch up later?"
"Is everything all right? You don't lookÑ"
He loved Jake like a brother but he didn't have time. He barreled around the corner, down the straightaway, and burst into the waiting area to the emergency suite.
"How can I help you?" A pleasant-looking woman in a security guard uniform sat at a plain beige desk. She slid a sign-in sheet toward Mark.
"I'm looking for someone . . . a woman, cardiac . . . they just brought her in by ambulance."
"Name?"
"Mark Kerry."
A small smile. "Her name, sir."
"I don't know." He quickly explained the situation.
The guard checked her computer screen. "I'm not showing any female cardiac patients admitted this morning."
"They took her in the back way. It was just a couple minutes ago."
"It would still be on the screen, sir."
"Can I go back there and look?"
"Let me see what I can find out." She lifted a pale green receiver and pressed a series of buttons. "I'm looking for a female cardiac . . . just admitted . . . thanks." She looked up at Mark. "She's gone."
His head emptied of everything but despair.
"Oh God, I'm sorry." The guard touched his hand. "I don't mean gone that way. They moved her to another hospital."
Relief almost brought him to his knees. "Where?"
"Oops." She picked up the phone and dialed again. "The cardiac transfer, where did they take her . . . well, where is Jen . . . she would know . . . so you didn't log her in . . . okay . . . thanks anyway."
He didn't need a translator. "You don't understand. I've got to find her." I made a promise. I said I wouldn't let her go. "I'm holding something of hers. It should be checked in with her belongings."
"Well, I don't know what to tell you, sir. She's not here so I guess you'll have to hang onto it. I'm sure you'll find her."
But he knew life didn't work that way. Sometimes people slipped through your fingers and you couldn't bring them back no matter how hard you tried.
Kate's hospital room – two days later
They all said it was a miracle, that God had been watching over her, and Kate supposed there was some truth to that. A complete stranger had stepped out of his own life long enough to save hers. Even she had to admit there was an element of the miraculous at work.
She remembered accidentally swiping a parking spot from a guy in a pale blue car and then the next thing she knew she was in CCU wondering what all the fuss was about. Something life-changing had happened between those two events and she wished she could remember what it was.
"The details will come back to you," Doctor Lombardi had said to her. "You've been through a traumatic experience. Just give it time."
But the thing was she wanted to know now. The story of a Good Samaritan in a Grateful Dead t-shirt who had performed CPR in the parking lot of the Princeton Promenade was attaining the status of suburban legend. A rescue squad worker told a receptionist who told another rescue squad worker who told the admitting clerk who told the emergency room nurse who told Doctor Lombardi who told her.
She was one of the lucky ones. Her heart attack had been a minor one and the swift administration of a lowly aspirin coupled with a powerful clot-buster and a diagnostic angiogram had stopped the attack in its tracks before there was permanent damage.
The whole thing was nothing more than an interruption, a small detour along an otherwise smooth highway. She had been absolutely fine before the cardiac incident and she was absolutely fine now. In fact if it wasn't for the fact that she was currently a guest at Central Jersey Medical Center, it would be like nothing at all had happened.
That was the good news.
The bad news? Her mother, her daughter, her colleagues, her friends, and the entire South Jersey contingent of aunts and cousins did know what all the fuss was about and they had converged on her hospital room to explain it to her.
"God saved you for a reason," her aunt Pat said as she wolfed down a handful of truffles from one of the many open boxes of candy scattered throughout the room. "Now you need to look into your soul and figure out what that reason is."
"Actually God didn't save me," she said. "Apparently it was a guy in a Grateful Dead t-shirt who did the honors."
"Don't say that!" This from her cousin Dorothy. "Of course it was God who saved you! He was just God's emissary."
The sign of the cross broke out on the far side of the room and spread fast.
"God has a plan," Mary Fran the ex-nun offered. "We just have to open our hearts to the possibilities."
"I said a rosary for you," Aunt Sheila announced from the sofa near the door. "I asked the Blessed Mother to strengthen your heart so you can withstand the trials ahead."
"Thanks, Aunt Sheila. I appreciate it." I don't need it but I'm trying very hard to appreciate it. "I don't think there are any trials ahead but it's nice to know I'm covered."
"I asked Father Loughlin to add you to the prayer chain at Blessed Sac." Cousin Dorothy wasn't going to be outdone by anyone. Kate was surprised she didn't claim a private line to the Vatican.
"Really?" Sheila's expression was decidedly unsaintlike. "Father Barrett promised to mention Kate at the early mass tomorrow."
Kate was starting to feel like a volleyball during a holy playoff game. "I appreciate the concern but you don't have to do this. I'm as good as new. I don't need to have masses said for me."
You would think she'd stripped down to her red lace birthday thong in the vestibule of St. Patrick's the way they looked at her.
"Your cousin Linda cried when I told her I was having a mass said for her, that's how happy she was." Sheila eyed the two-pound box of chocolate truffles at her right elbow like it was a consolation prize for Kate's ingratitude. "She says it cut her recovery time in half. If you ask me, I think it was definitely a--"
Please don't go there. If they started talking miracles again, she would be forced to jump out the window. From miracles it was only a Hail Mary to Mother Teresa, and before you could say "Holy Trinity" they would be trying to drag her into their scheme to canonize Pope John Paul II and name him the patron saint of South Jersey widows.
"Anyone for politics or sex?" she mumbled under her breath. Either topic would be a relief. Had her family always been this church-crazy or had she lost the ability to block them out?
Pat made a show of looking around the room. "Your mother and Gwynn aren't here with you?"
Not unless they're hiding under the bed. "They drove over to the mall to pick up my car. It's been sitting there since Wednesday."
"Your car's been at the mall since Wednesday?" Dorothy sounded downright gobsmacked but at least it took her mind off religion. "You actually think it'll still be there?"
"Princeton has a very low crime rate," Kate said. "I'm sure it's fine."
Dorothy started to argue but Sheila gave her a poke. "Kate's heart," she stage-whispered. "Don't get her upset. We don't want anything to happen."
"My heart is good as new," she said, wishing she didn't sound like a ten year old kid begging to stay up to watch Letterman. "I'm not going to go into cardiac arrest on you."
"Whatever you say, dear." That was Sheila again. "You know best."
Clearly she didn't, because if she had known best she would have gone to pick up her car herself and left Maeve and Gwynn here to cope with the rest of the family.
"So what's the chaplain here like?" Maeve's younger sister Gloria asked, steering the conversation right back into troubled waters. "Jeannie Lapinski told me he looks like a young Merv Griffin."
Don't laugh. She means it as a compliment.
"The one at St. Francis is a living doll," Gloria's daughter Rebecca chimed in. "He came to see me when I had Brandon and he really put the birth into perspective for me. He was so compassionate."
They turned toward Kate who was beginning to understand why deer in the headlights looked the way they did.
"I don't know what the chaplain here is like," she said. "I haven't seen him."
"You haven't seen him?" Gloria looked outraged. "What kind of chaplain is he? He should make it his business to visit all of the Catholics in this hospital. I have a good mind to speak to one of the –"
"He did his job just fine," Kate interrupted. "He wanted to stop by but I told the head nurse it wasn't necessary."
Gloria and Dorothy exchanged horrified glances.
"Not necessary?" Dorothy's voice held exactly the right tone of amazement. "Of course it's necessary. I'm just surprised they didn't give you the Last Rites when your heart stopped beating."
Her heart was definitely beating now. "I didn't need Last Rites," she said through gritted teeth. "I needed CPR."
"And thank God you got it," Sheila said.
"No," Kate said, "thank the man in the Grateful Dead t-shirt that I got it. He's the one who saved my life."
If only she could find him and thank him herself.
Chapter One
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Hosted by
|
|
|
|
|
|
