Page 104 of Absorbed

Ms. Lopez completed those notes before asking, “How much time passed between the time chest compressions began and when the paramedics arrived, would you say?”

“Maybe ninety seconds?” Stacey said.How would I know?“I wasn’t looking at the clock.”

“Once the paramedics were on the scene, did you remain involved in the resuscitation efforts?”

“No. I told them we couldn’t get air into Mr. Henderson’s lungs and they said they would intubate. I moved out of the way, and let them take over. Mark kept doing chest compressions while two paramedics inserted the tube and pumped air with a plastic pump. When a third medic arrived, Mark helped as the four of them lifted Mr. Henderson onto a gurney. He had to be out of the puddles when they used the AED.”

“Did you witness the paramedics administering the defibrillation?” the lawyer asked.

“Yeah.”

“Were you able to determine if any of their efforts to revive Mr. Henderson were at all successful?”

“It didn’t make any difference.” Stacey envisioned the vacant eyes staring straight up at the sky. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Nothing made any difference. He was gone.”

For the next twenty minutes, Ms. Lopez asked about the ambulances, fire trucks, police officers and medics on the scene, how long it took them and Bob to arrive, where they entered and exited.

Stacey felt numb as she rubbed her eyes and cheeks, recounting details that couldn’t possibly matter. None of it would help Jessie. Or Mr. Henderson.

Nearly two hours passed before the lawyer took a deep breath, then looked Stacey directly in the eyes. “Is thereany additional information you think I ought to know, Ms. Chapman? Anything that has not been covered in our conversation? Specifically, are there any factors that might have caused, or could have prevented, the incidents on July 20th? Anything that might have prevented you or other staff from responding quickly, or could have prevented the victims from receiving the best possible care?”

Stacey stared back. She knew at some point the lawyer might have found out about the pregnancy tests. Or someone could have mentioned Mark’s pills. His habit of sleeping at work. But it wasn’t going to be Stacey who told her.

Stacey said calmly, “Nothing comes to mind.”

Ms. Lopez slowly nodded as though contemplating Stacey’s words, then pressed stop on the tape recorder. She clicked the end of her pen before setting it down next to her notes. “Thank you for coming in today. If we have any further questions, someone from my office will give you a call.”

Stacey stood, and turned, leaving her own notes on the table. As she pulled open the conference room door, her eyes met Mark’s.

Mark was seated in the hall. His head was tilted back against the beige wall, and his expression was solemn. His eyes shifted toward the open conference room door, and back to Stacey again. Before Stacey could ask how he was doing, Ms. Lopez called Mark inside.

Chapter Twenty-Five

From city hall, Stacey drove straight to the high school. Her mom was still at work, and after being interrogated for the previous two hours, she didn’t want to be alone. When Ms. Moreno arrived Monday evening, Stacey was seated in the shade against the stucco wall outside her classroom, waiting.

“Hi Stacey,” Ms. Moreno said, smiling. She approached the door and fumbled with her keys in the lock.

Stacey pulled herself to standing, but couldn’t muster a smile.

“Is everything okay?” Ms. Moreno asked.

Stacey shook her head. “Can we go inside?”

“Of course.” Ms. Moreno pushed the door open, ushering Stacey into the classroom. The room was warm and stuffy.

“Let me just turn on the fans.” Ms. Moreno pulled a fan into the doorway and turned the dial to high.

Dust particles drifted in the beams of sunlight stretching from the top windows across the linoleum floor. Stacey sat on a stool at the butcher block table in the center of the room, while Ms. Moreno turned on the other fans around the art lab. Aftersetting her purse on her desk, she grabbed two cans of soda from her mini fridge and placed them on the butcher block.

“Want a Pepsi? Or a Mr. Pibb?” Ms. Moreno asked as she sat down across from Stacey.

Stacey ran her fingernail inside a deep groove in the tabletop. “I don’t know what to do,” she said softly.

“Whatever is going on, we can figure it out,” the art teacher said.

“I just spent two hours talking about it.”

Ms. Moreno leaned forward. “If you don’t want to talk to me about it, why are you here? Do you want to paint?”

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