Page 35 of Wildest Dreams

I reached for my drink with my eyes still closed, taking a sip. The whiskey prickled my tongue deliciously. I smiled. Another vision sifted through my jumbled thoughts.

Me. Making the rounds to see my patients, with a clipboard pressed to my chest.

Reassuring worried parents.

Comforting distressed children.

I want to be a doctor.

I’d always wanted to be a doctor.

It was there in the back of my head, a pipe dream that could never materialize.

I opened my eyes, and the first thing in front of me was the bartender, now clutching the edge of the bar. Her pupils were the size of soup bowls.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked.

“I’m feeling a little dizzy…” She blinked slowly. “Like my heart is beating out of whack.” She reached for her head, and before I knew it, her eyes had rolled over in their sockets, and she was falling to the floor with a thud. The noise and the music drowned out her fall.

I immediately sprang into action. I jumped across the bar, knocking down my cocktail and my cake in the process, then I crouched down to check her pulse. There wasn’t one.

Crap.

The bartender next to her—a man in his fifties—stared at me helplessly, holding two beers in his hands.

“Call 911,” I ordered him.

He nodded, dropped everything, and took out his phone.

Luckily, I’d done a CPR course when Grav was born. I began alternating between chest compressions and mouth-to-mouth. The other bartender came to stand over me.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck. Faye is my best bartender. Is she going to be okay?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly, timing my chest compressions. “Did you call 911?”

“Yeah. They asked me a bunch of questions. I…I told them to just come. They should be here any minute.”

I checked her heartbeat against her neck again. This time, there was a faint pulse. My shoulders slumped with relief. The adrenaline coursing through my body made me feel almost drunk.

The doors to the bar flew open, and a member of the medical staff rushed in. The older bartender was too stunned to talk to him, so I had to explain what had happened. Faye was rushed out on a gurney, and I wondered if this was some kind of sign I needed to pursue my dream to become a doctor.

The bartender clasped a hand on my shoulder. “Thank you for doing that. Shit. I panicked. I can’t believe I blurted out about her job when her life was in danger.”

“No problem.” I turned to smile at him, standing up. “People say weird stuff when they’re stressed.”

“Are you a nurse or something?” He eyed me curiously.

“Nope. Worked in restaurants my whole life, actually.”

“So how did you know how to do…it?” He looked confused.

“What, CPR?” I chuckled. “I took a course before I had my daughter. You know, just in case.”

He nodded. “Well, suffice it to say, your drink and your cake are on the house.”

“Thanks.” I glanced around. “So…do you need any help here? It seems busy, and you are one bartender short.”

“Sure do,” he grunted. “There’s a recipe menu in the drawer right next to you. I’ll pay you double what I pay hourly if you save my ass today.”

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