A Boss Beyond Compare. Dianne DrakeЧитать онлайн книгу.
“Don’t die.” Empty words, but as long as she kept saying them there was hope. “Don’t die…”
“It’s time,” the stranger finally said. He reached across the body and laid a gentle hand on her arm. “We’ve done everything we can do. It’s time.”
This was her resuscitation, not his! He didn’t have the right to call it done. “Leave me alone!” she choked, shrugging off his touch.
“It’s been too long. You can’t save him.”
“Go to hell,” she snarled, continuing the chest compressions with a newfound strength and preparing herself to take over the rescue-breathing the stranger wasn’t going to do, as he was moving away now.
“You tried, but he was under too long from the start.” Behind her now, the stranger tried to take hold of her shoulders and pull her away, but she flailed out, struck him, and bent back over the boy for a round of mouth-to-mouth. Tears were streaking down her cheeks now. And her own breaths were coming in sobs.
“It’s not too late!” she cried, going back to her chest compression position once she’d delivered the breaths. But this time the stranger succeeded in grabbing her, pulling her firmly away from the lifeless form, as someone from the crowd stepped forward and covered the boy with a beach blanket.
Susan still fought the man who held her back, though. Tried to get away from him, tried to get back to her patient. But the man held her away, held her tight. Pulled her into his arms and locked her there in his grip.
“It’s time,” he said, his voice so quiet it wasn’t even a whisper. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing you can do for him now. He’s dead, and he can’t be resuscitated.”
He was right. She knew that. The doctor in her knew that. There wasn’t anything to be done now. The boy really was…
A sob so heavy it racked her entire body caused her to go limp in the man’s arms, and she was grateful for the strength in his embrace, and for the gentleness, even if from a stranger. She needed it. Needed something to hold on to. Needed someone to hold on to her.
Susan laid her head on the stranger’s chest and shut her eyes, listening to the sound of his beating heart, listening to the strength and vitality in it, taking comfort in the life she could hear, could feel against her cheek. “I tried,” she said, sudden heavy lethargy washing down over her. She was so tired now. Exhausted with a bone-crushing weariness like she’d never known in her life. “I tried to save him.” To her own ears her voice was thick, distorted.
“I know you did. But this wasn’t your fault.” He stroked her hair with the gentle hand of someone who cared. Of course, she knew he didn’t. He was merely a stranger on the beach, doing what any compassionate stranger might do. But she was glad for his attention anyway, and craved it for a moment longer.
“Someone needs to notify—”
“Shh. It’s not for you to worry about now. You did everything you could.”
Easy for him to say, because he hadn’t been the one who’d failed at the resuscitation attempt. He hadn’t been the one to let the boy die. She was the one who had started it and she was the one who’d failed. Which made this man’s need to calm her seem so…trivial. She didn’t want his compassion any longer. Didn’t want his arms around her any more, so she pushed herself away from him. “Don’t you think you’re taking this whole thing rather lightly?” she choked, pointing to the boy’s body. “He just died, for God’s sake! And you’re behaving like…like…” She steadied herself with a deep breath. “I need to see the local doctor and find out if I need to sign the death certificate since I’m the one who…” Who’d let him die. She couldn’t say the words out loud, though.
“Three blocks. That way.” He pointed in the direction leading away from the beach. “White building. South side of the road. You can’t miss it.”
She thought about thanking the man for his comfort but didn’t as he disappeared into the crowd when she took her last look at the boy. However it worked out from here, this definitely marked the end of her holiday.
CHAPTER TWO
“YOU!”
From his desk, Grant Makela smiled up at Susan. “Are you feeling better?”
“What are you doing here?”
“You said you had to come see the local doctor about a death certificate, so here I am, the local doctor.”
“Couldn’t you have told me that on the beach?”
“Would you have heard me if I had? You were pretty upset.”
“Were? I still am.” A lump as hard as the slick volcanic pahoehoe stone she’d found on her walk to the beach that morning grabbed Susan by the throat, threatening to choke her. She swallowed hard, willing the anxiety to dissipate, willing the memories of that frightful scene to break up and go away. Yet the more she tried to not think about it, the more she did. All the while, that abominable lump in her throat was enlarging to the point it hurt. And the tears starting to slide down her cheeks felt like drops of molten lava burning a sharp path from her eyes straight to her heart as she thought of how someone who’d loved that young man must have been crying the same bitter, stinging tears for him, too.
Of all the times to be silly, here she was, doing it in front of him. Dr Makela, according to the nameplate on his desk. “I, um… Could I just sign whatever I need to, so I can go back to my hotel?”
“You’re not driving, are you? Because I’m not sure you’re in any shape to drive so soon.”
She nodded, almost to the point of biting her inner lip to stop her emotions from gushing over.
“Well, maybe you should have a rest here before you go. Take a little time to calm down.”
“I’m fine,” she argued. “Just a bit…upset, like I said.”
“No,” he said in such a soft-spoken voice it caused her to shiver—the voice he’d used to comfort her on the beach.
It was amazing how quickly she’d come to like that voice, come to believe it.
“You’re not fine. And upset is an understatement for what you’re going through, judging by what I’m seeing. What happened out there…it’s not an easy thing. And what you tried to do…your after-effects are natural, and I’d really like for you to stay until you’ve had time to get over it, to recover.”
He did have a nice way about him, and she thought he was probably genuine in his concern, but right then she didn’t want concern. All she wanted was to be alone. “I’m a doctor. I know very well what I am.”
Dr Makela gave her a compassionate, patient smile. “I’m also a doctor, and I know very well what you are, too. You’re feeling like emotional hell. Your hands are shaking, your head is probably woozy and pounding like crazy, and you hate me at this very moment because you’d rather go off to yourself and have a good cry, and I’m not letting you do that. Am I right about that?”
“The papers, Doctor? I know there are papers to sign so please, just let me do that, then you won’t have to waste your time diagnosing someone who doesn’t want to be diagnosed.”
“But you do need to be diagnosed, Doctor…” He waited for her to divulge her name.
“Cantwell. Dr Susan Cantwell.”
“Medical doctor?”
In a manner of speaking, yes, as that’s the way she’d been trained. Technically, she was an internal medicine specialist. She also had a little background in general surgery, too. Both had been prerequisites for her position as medical director over any number of internists and surgeons. But here, after her failure, it seemed like such a bitter pill to swallow, admitting that she was a medical doctor. “Medical doctor,” she said almost under her breath.
“A