Page 91 of The Art Of Starting Over

“Emergency services, what’s your emergency?”

“I need help. It’s my dad. I think he had a heart attack.”

“Have you started chest compressions?”

“No, but I am now.” She cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder and pushed on his chest, the way she’d learned from a cardiopulmonary resuscitation class she had taken years ago. She, like many, thought she’d never use CPR again and had never gone back to recertify.

The operator asked other questions and assured Devorah that an ambulance was on the way. When she saw the lights pull into the driveway, she dropped the phone and ran to the door.

“He’s in the kitchen, straight ahead.”

From there, she stood and watched men rip open her father’s shirt, then push and press things to his chest. Tears continued to stream as the men pressed paddles to his chest, let them recharge, and then did it again. And again.

And again.

Maren came down the stairs, and before she could see what the medics were doing to her grandfather, Devorah wrapped her daughter in her arms and held her head against her shoulder.

“You don’t want to see this,” she whispered. “Just let me hold you.”

Maren cried. She may have been nine, but she knew.

Behind them, Cordelia whimpered. She’d started off as Colt’s dog, but she’d quickly turned into Crow’s.

“Ma’am,” a medic said as he came to her. “We’re sorry ...” Devorah heard nothing after those words. She’d lost her father, a man she’d hada troubled relationship with until recently. Things were better between them, more loving, nurturing. Crow had been happy she and Maren were there, and he’d wanted them to stay.

Devorah continued to hold Maren in her arms as they wheeled Crow out of the house, a white sheet covering his body. The medic left the front door open, and so did Devy. She didn’t move or get up to close it until the lights had disappeared.

Now what was she going to do?

“Mommy?” Maren’s voice was soft, scared.

“Yeah?”

“Is Grandpa going to be okay?”

More tears streamed down her cheeks, and she choked on a sob. She shook her head and somehow found her voice enough to tell her daughter, “No.”

Footsteps thundered on the porch steps, and Colt shot through the open door. “What happened?”

Devorah looked at her brother, and she could tell by the way his face dropped that he knew. She wouldn’t have to say the words. She wasn’t sure she even could.

Colt leaned against the wall and slid down, his own tears coming in hot streams.

It wasn’t only Colt, Devorah, and Maren who’d lost someone at that moment; their entire community had.

Devorah finally asked Maren to go upstairs. She didn’t have to go back to sleep, but Devy and Colt had to talk and take care of adult things. Things a nine-year-old didn’t need to hear about or be a part of.

When she heard the bedroom door shut upstairs, Devorah recounted the noise she’d heard and how she’d crept downstairs. “If I wasn’t afraid, maybe I would’ve gotten to him sooner.”

“Don’t you even blame yourself, Dev. He didn’t exactly take care of himself.”

She nodded, but the guilt was there, building with no end in sight. Just when she thought she’d found her footing, her father had to die on her.

Now what?

Devorah brought her knees to her chest and sobbed. Despite their strained relationship, he’d been a rock for her the past few weeks, reminding her to put herself first and to grasp all the happiness coming her way.

Colt moved next to his sister and wrapped her in his arms. “It’s going to be okay,” he said to her, but she didn’t believe him. She didn’t know how.

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