At Last (The Idle Point, Maine Stories) - By Barbara Bretton Page 0,59

Don't think about that. That wasn't going to happen. It couldn't happen. He'd call the cops, the cops would call out the ambulances, they'd make Simon better. It had happened before. It was happening now. They'd deal with it.

But what if Simon died while he was getting help? He had to do something now. He knew CPR. He'd do what he could then get help. There was no time to waste. He glanced around for a rock or heavy branch then opted for a scissor kick that smashed the passenger side window. A second later he was in the car next to his father, unbuttoning the man's shirt, clearing an airway, calling for help. Time slowed down to a crawl as he worked in a vacuum of fear and silence.

"No."

He jumped at the sound of Simon's voice.

"It's okay. I'm here. An ambulance is on its way."

"No!" Louder this time, more frantic. He pushed at Noah with flailing hands.

"They'll help you," Noah said, trying to calm him. "You're going to be okay."

"Graciela..."

"What?" Noah leaned closer so he could hear his father's words. "Say it again."

"Graciela... no... no..."

"Don't talk," Noah said. "Rest." They could argue this ten years from now while the grandchildren were playing outside.

"Gone... finally... gone."

"Listen!" The siren's wail grew closer. "The ambulance will be here any second."

"... her fault... she ruined everything..."

A chill ran up Noah's spine. "Ruined what? Dad, what are you talking about?"

Simon's eyes closed. His breathing stilled.

"Come on, " Noah muttered. "Come on, damn it." Where the hell were the cops? The ambulance should've been there by now. His father was dying right in front of his eyes and there wasn't a damn thing Noah could do to help him.

"Goddamn it, Dad." He pumped his father's chest in a desperate attempt to save him, but it was too late. It had been too late the day Noah was born.

"I'm really sorry, Noah," said Pete Winthrop, son of the old police chief. "The EMT staff said you did everything you could."

Noah felt drained. Beyond tears. Beyond sorrow. The weight of things left unsaid was crushing. He wished Gracie were there with him. He needed her more than he'd ever needed her before. He wanted to see her face, touch her hand, reassure himself that the future they'd dreamed of was still within reach.

"Noah."

Noah started. "Sorry." He forced himself to pay attention. "What did you say?"

"You'll want to tell your mother before she finds out some other way."

"Oh, Jesus." He felt like crying. His mother's world revolved around Simon. What would she do without him? "Yeah, I'll tell her." He had to find Gracie. His mother liked Gracie and he knew Gracie thought highly of her in return. He couldn't do this alone. He wanted to climb behind the wheel of his sports car and break the speed of sound getting the hell out of there. He was good at running away from things he didn't like. That was one of the first things you learn when you're six years old and far away from home and everyone you love.

He had to find Gracie. Gracie would know how to handle this. She would know the right way to tell his mother.

"Noah." Pete Winthrop's voice broke into his thoughts. "You okay to drive?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine."

Pete stepped closer. "You don't look so good."

He pushed past him, trying to get to his car. He had to get out of there. He had to find Gracie. He'd stop by her house. It was late. Hours past when they were supposed to meet. Gracie was logical. Clear-headed. She would go home and wait for a phone call, wait for him to show up with an explanation. He had to get to her. This would all make sense when he saw her again, when he held her in his arms.

Minutes later he whipped into her driveway. Her car was nowhere in sight but that didn't mean anything. Maybe she called Gabe's Cab Service and got a lift. Maybe she'd left her car back there in the parking lot with a note for him under her windshield wiper. Maybe if he kept moving it would all start to make sense.

His heart beat so fast and hard that it hurt. Jesus, what the hell was going on. He banged on the door. No answer. He tried the door. It was unlocked. He stepped into the front room. "Gracie!" He moved toward the hallway. "Mr. Taylor?" His footsteps sounded like cannon fire. The rooms were