Page 28 of Whispers at Seaside
“Did you know that I occasionally bring Hagen to work with me? Not often, but sometimes when he has a day off from school, your dad will suggest that I bring him in, and Hagen will spend the whole day following him around. They take inventory together, and your dad tells him what certain tools are for. It’s nice for all of us. He’s like a surrogate grandfather, and selfishly, I don’t want Hagen to lose that connection.”
“You’ve made a world of difference in my father’s life. We’ve all noticed it. He’s happier than he’s been in years, despite his not wanting to talk about making changes to the business. That’s our fault, not yours. He wants the business to stay in the family.” He kissed her again. “Nobody wants to see you lose that connection. Maybe together we can make sure neither of you will ever have to.”
He glanced over her shoulder, and his brows drew together. His entire body seemed to stand at attention. “Call nine-one-one.”
He ran across the street. Mira dug out her phone and hurried across the street to where Matt was crouched beside a woman who was lying on the ground, her body convulsing uncontrollably. Spittle gathered in her mouth. Matt carefully rolled her onto her side and placed one hand behind her back, the other beneath her face to protect it from the concrete. Mira’s pulse was racing, fear and empathy consuming her.
“Nine-one-one, Mira,please. She’s having a seizure.”
Mira nervously placed the call as Matt calmly and carefully took care of the woman. The woman lost control of her bladder, and Matt continued protecting her head and keeping her on her side, explaining to Mira that he was keeping her from choking. Despite the crowd gathering around them, Matt was completely focused on the woman lying on the sidewalk, her body still jerking violently.
“She’s okay,” he said to no one in particular, his eyes never leaving the woman. “She’s having a seizure.”
What seemed like an hour later, but in reality was probably thirty seconds, the woman’s body stilled, and Matt brushed her hair from her cheeks, keeping her on her side. “She’s okay,” he said, breathing deeply. “She’s in the postictal phase. Nothing to be afraid of. It’s just a deep sleep. She’ll be out of it soon.” He shrugged off his shirt and placed it over her wet pants.
Sirens neared, and Matt glanced up at Mira. His serious dark eyes brightened a little as a small smile curved his lips. “Good job, sunshine. There isn’t much you can do when this happens but make sure the person doesn’t choke and keep them from harming themselves.”
As the woman came to, Matt held her, talking softly, reassuring her with kind words and complete and total focus. Once the ambulance arrived, he explained what had happened, and Mira heard him say he didn’t notice a medical alert bracelet or necklace. She wouldn’t have even thought to look for one. In fact, she’d have had no idea what to do, while it seemed second nature to Matt. He had reacted instantly and wasn’t the least bit frazzled.
He came to her side and tucked her beneath his arm. “You’re shaking.” He turned her toward him and held her against his bare chest. “It’s okay. Seizures can be frightening for everyone.”
“How did you know what to do?” She was shaking like a leaf, and felt ridiculous because she wasn’t the woman who had experienced the seizure or the man who’d helped her. But the scene had been terrifying. What if Matt hadn’t been there? What if the woman had choked, or cracked her skull on the sidewalk during her seizure?
“I’ve taken basic lifesaving courses.” He placed his hands on her cheeks and searched her eyes. “You should sit down for a minute.”
He was a pillar of strength, a caring, generous man with a heart of gold that extended well beyond her and Hagen. And even if only for a few months, she was so glad he washers.
MATT ARRIVED AT his childhood home at seven thirty on the dot with all the fixings for a grilled steak dinner, his father’s favorite, and, he hoped, a solid distraction for himself. He drew in a deep breath as he mounted the porch steps and entered the house. The worn wooden floors creaked beneath the area rug in the entranceway.
Even though his mother had been gone for several years, he still expected to hear her call out, “Matty? Is that you, honey?” He still expected to see his father pull her into a quick kiss as she walked by his favorite recliner, where he’d be working his way through a crossword puzzle.
He still expected the life he had grown up with, the life he had counted on, to be intact.
“Matty?” his father called out, and just like that Matt’s mind shifted to the present.
Mom’s gone. Dad’s not drunk.
I’m home.
“Right here, Pop. I brought dinner.”
His father stepped out from the den down the hall with his reading glasses on the bridge of his nose and a crossword puzzle in hand. A welcome sight after his bout with alcohol. His father looked good. He’d long ago lost the belly he’d developed from drinking, and though he had a little more silver in his brown hair, he looked healthy.
“Bring it into the kitchen.” He motioned to Matt to follow him.
Matt paused when he passed his mother’s sewing room. He still had memories of her glancing up from behind her sewing machine, a warm smile always in place.You should learn to sew, Matty. You never know when you’ll need to fix something.Matt never needed to be offered the chance to learn more than once. He’d taken her up on it, and by the time he was twelve he could sew better than most moms in the neighborhood. The familiar ache of missing her filled his chest. He cleared his throat to push the emotions back down and followed his father into the kitchen.
“I figured we’d grill out back.” He began unpacking the bag and his father pulled out the cutting board and meat tenderizer. Or, as his father called it, the take-your-frustrations-out-on-the-steak mallet.
“I knew you would. The grill is ready.” His father unwrapped the steak and used the mallet to tenderize it as Matt prepared a salad. “So you finally came to your senses with Mira?”
“It was never a matter of coming to my senses. She’s a single mom. I couldn’t exactly go out with her for a day here and there. That wouldn’t have been fair to her or Hagen.” He pushed the bowl of salad to the side and leaned against the counter. “I’ve got three months.”
“And then?”
“And then I’ll figure it out.” They worked in silence for a few minutes. Matt sliced potatoes, thick, the way his father liked them, brushed them with olive oil and seasonings, and laid them on aluminum foil, then he brought the sides of the foil together, leaving air around the potatoes, like a shiny sack, and folded them together. He put them in the oven and headed outside to grill.
“How’s the boat coming along?” Matt asked after they set the steaks on the grill and settled into the chairs on the deck. He and Pete were refinishing a sailboat. His father had taught Pete to refinish boats when he was just a boy, the same way he’d helped each of his five children find their niche. There was always an endless supply of books available for Matt, and trips to the library that were like trips to the candy store for other kids. He’d taught Grayson and Hunter to work with metal, and he’d turned a shed into an art studio for Sky. Now, as he listened to his father tell him about the work he and Pete were doing on the boat, he realized he wanted to do those things for his own children. These thoughts didn’t surprise him, as he’d been thinking about family more and more over the past year or two. But the yearning was stronger now. And he wanted to do those things with Hagen.
