breathing, too, when a stranger emerged from the crowd and took over that duty. For the next several minutes, the two of them performed CPR quietly and skillfully. It was a frantic scene in which the crowd had stepped even farther back and a few people who didn’t want to watch the final outcome had skittered away. No one standing around Susan and the stranger spoke either, no one moved. Susan almost wished they would make some noise, something to cover up the stark sound of silent death settling in, because with every chest compression that failed to produce a heartbeat, and with every breath the man across from her put into the boy that failed to draw out one of his own, her optimism diminished.
After five minutes of this, her arms were aching and burning, on the way to going numb. And nothing was happening.
But he was so young…too young to die. Somebody loved this boy…his mother, his father. A girlfriend waiting at home for him, making dreamy plans for their future. For the people who loved him, she wouldn’t quit.
But she knew the rules. Ten to fifteen minutes without any response whatsoever meant it was hopeless. In her heart she did know this young man wasn’t going to be resuscitated—her first patient in so many years she couldn’t even remember, and she could not save him.
Yet she still couldn’t quit. She looked plaintively at the man across from her, who was busy feeling for a pulse, and couldn’t read his face. Maybe, like her, he was hoping that with the next compression of the boy’s chest…maybe one more breath…maybe a miracle. Please, God, a miracle! “Don’t do this,” she whispered, as she continued to work frantically on the lifeless body. “Don’t die.” Empty words, but as long as she kept saying them there was hope. “Don’t die…”
“It’s time,” the stranger finally said. He reached across the body and laid a gentle hand on her arm. “We’ve done everything we can do. It’s time.”
This was her resuscitation, not his! He didn’t have the right to call it done. “Leave me alone!” she choked, shrugging off his touch.
“It’s been too long. You can’t save him.”
“Go to hell,” she snarled, continuing the chest compressions with a newfound strength and preparing herself to take over the rescue-breathing the stranger wasn’t going to do, as he was moving away now.
“You tried, but he was under too long from the start.” Behind her now, the stranger tried to take hold of her shoulders and pull her away, but she flailed out, struck him, and bent back over the boy for a round of mouth-to-mouth. Tears were streaking down her cheeks now. And her own breaths were coming in sobs.
“It’s not too late!” she cried, going back to her chest compression position once she’d delivered the breaths. But this time the stranger succeeded in grabbing her, pulling her firmly away from the lifeless form, as someone from the crowd stepped forward and covered the boy with a beach blanket.
Susan still fought the man who held her back, though. Tried to get away from him, tried to get back to her patient. But the man held her away, held her tight. Pulled her into his arms and locked her there in his grip.
“It’s time,” he said, his voice so quiet it wasn’t even a whisper. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing you can do for him now. He’s dead, and he can’t be resuscitated.”
He was right. She knew that. The doctor in her knew that. There wasn’t anything to be done now. The boy really was…
A sob so heavy it racked her entire body caused her to go limp in the man’s arms, and she was grateful for the strength in his embrace, and for the gentleness, even if from a stranger. She needed it. Needed something to hold on to. Needed someone to hold on to her.
Susan laid her head on the stranger’s chest and shut her eyes, listening to the sound of his beating heart, listening to the strength and vitality in it, taking comfort in the life she could hear, could feel against her cheek. “I tried,” she said, sudden heavy lethargy washing down over her. She was so tired now. Exhausted with a bone-crushing weariness like she’d never known in her life. “I tried to save him.” To her own ears her voice was thick, distorted.
“I know you did. But this wasn’t your fault.” He stroked her hair with the gentle hand of someone who cared. Of course, she knew he didn’t. He was merely a stranger on the beach, doing what any compassionate stranger might do. But she was glad for his attention anyway, and craved it for a moment longer.
“Someone needs to notify—”
“Shh. It’s not for you to worry about now. You did everything you could.”
Easy for him to say, because he hadn’t been the one who’d failed at the resuscitation attempt. He hadn’t been the one to let the boy die. She was the one who had started it and she was the one who’d failed. Which made this man’s need to calm her seem so…trivial. She didn’t want his compassion any longer. Didn’t want his arms around her any more, so she pushed herself away from him. “Don’t you think you’re taking this whole thing rather lightly?” she choked, pointing to the boy’s body. “He just died, for God’s sake! And you’re behaving like…like…” She steadied herself with a deep breath. “I need to see the local doctor and find out if I need to sign the death certificate since I’m the one who…” Who’d let him die. She couldn’t say the words out loud, though.
“Three blocks. That way.” He pointed in the direction leading away from the beach. “White building. South side of the road. You can’t miss it.”
She thought about thanking the man for his comfort but didn’t as he disappeared into the crowd when she took her last look at the boy. However it worked out from here, this definitely marked the end of her holiday.
CHAPTER TWO
“YOU!”
From his desk, Grant Makela smiled up at Susan. “Are you feeling better?”
“What are you doing here?”
“You said you had to come see the local doctor about a death certificate, so here I am, the local doctor.”
“Couldn’t you have told me that on the beach?”
“Would you have heard me if I had? You were pretty upset.”
“Were? I still am.” A lump as hard as the slick volcanic pahoehoe stone she’d found on her walk to the beach that morning grabbed Susan by the throat, threatening to choke her. She swallowed hard, willing the anxiety to dissipate, willing the memories of that frightful scene to break up and go away. Yet the more she tried to not think about it, the more she did. All the while, that abominable lump in her throat was enlarging to the point it hurt. And the tears starting to slide down her cheeks felt like drops of molten lava burning a sharp path from her eyes straight to her heart as she thought of how someone who’d loved that young man must have been crying the same bitter, stinging tears for him, too.
Of all the times to be silly, here she was, doing it in front of him. Dr Makela, according to the nameplate on his desk. “I, um… Could I just sign whatever I need to, so I can go back to my hotel?”
“You’re not driving, are you? Because I’m not sure you’re in any shape to drive so soon.”
She nodded, almost to the point of biting her inner lip to stop her emotions from gushing over.
“Well, maybe you should
