Harvest Moon. Робин Карр

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СКАЧАТЬ eyes rolled back in her head and she went down. Lights out.

      When Kelly awoke, a man in a navy blue T-shirt smiled into her eyes as he wheeled her toward a vehicle with red-and-blue flashing lights. There was a mask over her mouth and nose. She realized she was on a gurney or stretcher; she felt the motion of it as it slid into the back of an ambulance. “Well, hello,” he said after he’d closed the doors. “Feeling okay?”

      She clawed away an oxygen mask. “Where … What …”

      “You passed out, got a little cut on your head. Your EKG looks okay at first glance but has to be checked by a cardiologist. Your blood pressure is way up there and you were out a little on the long side.” Then he asked her a series of questions—who is the president, what year is it, where do you work? He listened to her heart, checked her blood pressure. She lifted her hand and saw the IV. “We started the IV in case we need to administer drugs. Do you have asthma? Allergies?”

      It was pure instinct that prompted her to struggle to sit up. “No, I’m fine, I’m just …”

      He pushed gently against her shoulder. “We’ll be there soon, Miss Matlock. Trust me, you need a little visit with the doctor.” She watched as he tinkered with the IV, then pushed something in with a syringe. Then he laughed uncomfortably. “That kitchen,” he said with a snort. “I might never eat out again …”

      “Huh?”

      “Seriously,” he said. “We have paramedics in the kitchen and people are yelling about spinach sides and they’re stepping over us! Don’t they take a little break when a chef could be having a heart attack?”

      She put her hand to her chest, and her eyes were panicked. “Am I having a heart attack?”

      “Nah, I don’t think so. You’re stable now. But you had some noticeable symptoms. One of the cooks said you grabbed your chest and had trouble breathing. You have to see the ER doc before you go anywhere. Seriously, that kitchen is a nuthouse.”

      She fell back onto the gurney, suddenly very tired. “Yeah. Tell me about it.”

      “You under that kind of stress all the time?” the paramedic asked.

      She nodded, but what she thought was, Except for Luca’s wife confronting me, it was a pretty average night.

      He chuckled humorlessly. “Unbelievable. I had to clear out the kitchen …”

      “Huh?”

      “I told them to turn off the stoves and get the hell out of the kitchen or I’d have the police do it,” he said. “Thing is, a lot of people have high-stress jobs—surgeons, stockbrokers, pilots. But I’d never work in that kitchen.”

      “Don’t like to cook?” she asked tiredly.

      “I love to cook. I bet I’m the best one at the house.” Then he grinned. “Firehouse. And of course there’s stress in being a paramedic. But I saw a difference the minute I was in that kitchen. We work as a team. We can count on each other.”

      Kelly was fading; she could hardly hold her eyes open. “Did you give me something?”

      “Valium,” he said. “The ER doc ordered it. It’ll calm you down a little. You’re anxious, which could account for the rapid pulse and high blood pressure.”

      “We work as a team, too. We have to in a five-star kitchen …”

      “Yeah, but on your team, they kick the injured to one side. That can go hard on your nerves.”

      “Hm. Well this Valium certainly fixes that.”

      He smiled. “Have a little nap. We’re almost there.”

      “Do you have my purse?” she asked. “Can I have my cell phone? “

      “Let’s get you to ER and let the docs have a crack at you first,” he said. “We’ll dig out your cell phone later. You’re too groggy to make good use of it right now anyway.”

      Apparently she wasn’t going to die. At least not yet. And she didn’t have her cell phone. It must have fallen out of her purse when she was taken to the ambulance.

      After five hours in the ER, she was released to go home. She had follow-up appointments with a cardiologist for a stress test and an internist to give her a physical and deal with her elevated blood pressure, which could be stress-related. Blood work indicated she was also anemic; her head CT was negative—no concussion.

      But the first thing she did in the morning was go to the restaurant in search of her cell phone. When she couldn’t find it, she called Phillip at home, waking him. “Who got my purse for the paramedics?” she asked him.

      “Me,” he said with a tired groan. “I’m the only person who can get in all the lockers. I figured you’d need ID and your insurance card.”

      “But my cell phone is gone. I don’t even have a landline in my flat, and all my numbers, address book, calendar and appointments are in that phone!”

      “I’ll look around when I open up, but it didn’t turn up when we were shutting down.”

      “I’m at the restaurant now,” she said. “I know the alarm code!”

      “Listen,” the manager said, sounding as if he came awake slowly. “You need to take a couple of days to figure out why you crashed. That disruption cost us money. What did they say at the hospital?”

      “No big deal,” she reported. “I’ll be fine. But I will take a day or two. I have follow-up appointments to get some … vitamins … And I obviously have to buy a phone.”

      “Look under all the equipment, lockers, etcetera. Maybe it got kicked out of the way or something.”

      She sighed. “I have, Phillip.”

      “Sorry, then,” he said and hung up.

      She continued to talk into the silence. “Thank you, I’m feeling fine, Phillip! I’m sure I’ll be all right, but it’s so sweet of you to ask if there’s anything you can do to help!” And then she clicked off the phone and slammed it down onto the desk.

      She wasn’t feeling so fine; she was still a bit groggy from the effects of the Valium. The ER doc had pointed out that not only was her blood pressure too high, but her molars were flattening out from grinding her teeth. The light-headedness and heart palpitations had probably been due to an anxiety attack—that should be verified if possible. Stress, anemia and exhaustion all added up to her fainting spell.

      “Is it going to kill me?” Kelly had asked. Perhaps she could blow off the follow-up appointments.

      The ER doctor had shrugged and said, “It will at least seriously affect your quality of life. You should really consider slowing things down if you can.”

      There was the little matter that her heart was broken; talk about a fatal injury to quality of life.

      Fortunately, she could remember the most important numbers stored in the lost cell phone—her sister Jillian’s and Luca’s. To СКАЧАТЬ