Page 1 of Degrees of Innocence
CHAPTER ONE
The weather is warm, with a slight breeze and I imagine the stars will be even brighter as the night continues to encroach. The resort is luxurious, and I can’t help but admire the architecture and atmosphere the designer has created with tall taupe-coloredpillars, natural stones and glass that allows for expansive views of nature’s landscape.
I opt for outdoor dining and take the path leading to the other side of the resort. It’s early yet, and I settle onto a barstool next to a couple who are laughing softly and seem to be enjoying each other’s company. The young bartender is friendly and chatty as she takes my order, recommending an island specialty called an Aruba Ariba. The drink arrives in an elegant looking glass, adorned by an exotic melon-colored tropical flower. I take a sip and murmur my appreciation to the bartender of its sweetness, although it’s slightly stronger than expected. The tiny lights on the distant horizon are mesmerizing. It’s hard to tell from this far away if they belong to vessels or something else.
I'm pulled back from my thoughts as the drink in my hand sloshes onto my dress, and the seat beneath me starts to sway. I grab hold of the bar, steadying myself, managing to stand upright just as the man next to me falls to the ground, taking my barstool with him. His wife has turned white and appears in a state of shock. I turn to scan the bar area, looking for help and realize the four of us are the only ones around.
I fall down by the gentleman’s side to see if he’s just had too much to drink, but he is unresponsive. I yell to the bartender, “Call 9-1-1!”I wonder if Aruba has 9-1-1…“Please, get a paramedic right away!” I try to remember my CPR training… Check the breathing.Is he breathing? The man is not breathing. Oh, shit!“Get a paramedic down here, please,” I hear myself yell.Okay, just be calm.I need to start chest compressions.Oh, God, the man is large, will I be strong enough? Where should the heel of my hand go? Yes… here, I remember.I need to compress at least two inches each time to deliver enough oxygen. I begin to push on the man’s chest, rearranging myself on my hands and knees to use the weight of my body to compress, starting to count as I go.Dammit, how many compressions? I think it’s thirty…yes. I remember… it’s thirty and the last training I went to eliminated rescue breaths. I continue compressing and count out loud. I reach thirty and move to his head to check for breathing. He’s still not breathing. Oh, God, please don’t let him die! I begin compressions again. “Damn,” I exclaim…still nothing. I can feel the burning in my arms. I keep going, pushing deep enough to compress his chest each time praying the paramedics get here soon. I push my body back to alleviate the cramping in my arms. I am aware of sounds behind me, and a male voice yelling. I reach fifteen and keep counting. I continue to count… twenty-two, twenty-three and twenty-four. Then someone is kneeling across from me, and I look up… twenty-five and twenty-six. I’m looking into the face of a man with startling green eyes.
He interrupts my counting. “When you reach thirty, I will take over, and you can watch for his breathing. Switch now!” he commands.
I push myself back and quickly move to the man’s head. He is still unresponsive. I am aware of the stranger’s intent gaze… he continues compressions, counting aloud with each, until finally we hear the emergency staff coming up the stairs, and a wave of pure relief rushes over me as they affix the AED and after what seems like forever manage to get a pulse. There is a flurry of activity as he is hooked up to monitors and oxygen and the IV is started. He stirs and groans softly and I look over at his wife, emotional myself, as I see the tears of relief pouring down her face as she kisses his hand. She moves out of the way as the paramedics prepare to transport him, walking over to me and embracing me in her arms. “I can’t thank you enough,” she says between sobs.
I hug her back feeling exhausted, and so grateful that her husband did not die. “I’m just so glad he is alive. Please go be with him,” I respond before she is swept away with the paramedics who are quickly pushing the gurney down the ramp to an awaiting ambulance. The thought that this man almost died hits me and I am unable to control the flood of tears that slip down my face. I self-consciously wipe them away as I feel a strong hand on my shoulder.
“Are you okay?” he asks softly, turning me to face him. His eyes are expressive and filled with concern.
“Yes, I’m just so glad that he is alive. I think I’m just a little shaky, that’s all. Thank you for taking over. I don’t know how much longer I would have lasted. I was scared no one was coming.”
“There’s no need to thank me. Let’s find a table and make sure you’re all right,” he says, placing a hand on the small of my back and guiding me through the bar area under the natural stone alcoves that lead into a more formal dining area overlooking the sea.
The hostess leads us to a quiet table close to the ocean, and he pulls back the chair for me. “Would you like a glass of wine?” he asks me as the waitress arrives.
“Yes, please,” I answer, listening as he orders for the two of us. I realize he’s asking me another question and look up. “I’m sorry,” I say, realizing I did not hear what he asked.
“I asked your name, but it’s clear you may be in a little bit of shock, your hands are trembling,” he says.
“I’m sorry, my name is Katarina, but most people call me Kate,” I respond.
“It’s nice to meet you, Katarina. Most people call me Chase.”
I feel the slight warmth of a blush spread across my face as I listen to my given name rolling off this man’s tongue. He appears American, but he speaks the language so formally. I find myself taking in his features. Thick sandy brown hair cut short, but not too short. The man’s jawline is broad and angular, appearing set as he appraises me. The wine arrives, and I take a sip, enjoying the light, crisp taste before swallowing, realizing he is still looking at me and that I’m beginning to blush again under his scrutiny.
“Katarina, are you okay?” he asks, appearing sincerely concerned. “That man was fortunate you were there. If it weren’t for your efforts he would no longer be alive,” he states with a shake of his head.
“I’m fine, but grateful you arrived when you did.”
“I was on the other side of the restaurant when I heard someone had collapsed, and a young woman was performing CPR.”
“I had just arrived and was enjoying the view when it happened. There wasn’t anyone around but the bartender and his wife,” I explain.
“So brave,” he says pausing for a beat. His deep green eyes are intent and controlled. “Have you eaten this evening, Katarina?” he asks.
“No, I was going to have a drink by the ocean before ordering,” I say.
“Good. I haven’t either and I think you’ll find the food excellent here,” he says, handing me a menu and affording me time to peruse.
“What would you like for dinner?” he asks after looking through the menu.
“Anything is fine, thanks,” I say, realizing immediately that I haven’t even looked at the menu. His eyebrows lift. I don’t know what has gotten into me, but I can’t seem to take my eyes off him and feel a slow blush growing across my face. “The long day and all the excitement must have gotten to me,” I hear myself explaining.
“I see,” he says, still holding my gaze. “Do you care for seafood? If so, I’ll order bay scallops, an island salad, and Bolo de banana. The meal is done well at this resort.”
“Yes, thank you, it sounds lovely.” The waiter brings two more glasses of wine, and I realize I have finished my first glass. As I reach over to pick up the newly delivered glass, his hand rests on top of mine, and I’m sure I visibly flinch as I feel the current his touch creates.
“Maybe you should have water, instead, Katarina.” I’m slightly confused by his words, but then it dawns on me; my drink splashed all over the front of my dress, and I must be a sweaty mess from the compressions.
I look down and can make out the telltale stains, which now blend into the floral colors of my dress. I wonder if I smell like alcohol and realize he probably thinks I have been drinking this evening. “You’re smiling, Katarina,” he says breaking through my reverie.
