Then he said something I still remember.
“Maybe that's what saving somebody looks like.”
I turned toward him.
He smiled faintly.
“Not one hero. Just enough people deciding not to walk away.”
I sat quietly.
Then looked toward the entrance where Nora had disappeared.
I thought about how easily the entire situation could have gone differently.
I could have chosen the gas station.
June could have been on break.
Eric could have ignored the first calls for help.
The AED could have been harder to locate.
The paramedics could have been farther away.
And I could have misunderstood the little girl for another thirty seconds.
The thought made me sick.
I closed my eyes.
Then I made a promise to myself.
If I ever saw that child again, I wasn't going to make her struggle to be understood by me.
I'd learn what those hands were saying.
Even if it took the rest of my life.
I didn't ride home immediately.
I tried.
I walked out of Walmart with my helmet under one arm and the unopened water bottle in the other hand.
The afternoon sun hit my face.
Traffic moved along the nearby road.
People pushed shopping carts toward their cars.
A family walked past carrying bags of groceries and laughing about something I couldn't hear.
The world had continued as though nothing extraordinary happened.
That unsettled me.
Inside the store, a little girl's entire future had nearly changed in a matter of minutes.
Outside, people were still worried about parking spaces.
I reached my motorcycle.
Then stopped.
My right hand was trembling.
Not much.
Just enough that I noticed when I tried fitting the key into the ignition.
I took it back out.
Sat on the low concrete wall beside the garden center.
And stared at the ground.
I had seen people die.
Not many, but enough.
Motorcycle accidents.
Illness.
A friend who suffered a stroke during a club gathering.
My wife, Grace, after a long battle with cancer.
Death wasn't a stranger.
But there was something uniquely terrible about watching a child's hands move desperately while her father lay unconscious.
I kept seeing Nora's face.
The pink shirt.
The tears.
Her fingers moving near her chest.
And the moment she stopped signing while the AED analyzed her father's heart.
I wondered whether she'd remember that silence forever.
I hoped she wouldn't.
Then my phone rang.
It was Travis.
I answered.
“Yeah.”
He didn't bother with a greeting.
“You home yet?”
“No.”
“You stop to eat?”
“Not exactly.”
He paused.
“Ray?”
I looked toward the highway.
Then told him what happened.
Not smoothly.
I started with the girl.
Then went backward.