Then skipped to the man collapsing.
I told him about CPR, the AED, and the grandmother arriving.
I tried to explain how frightened Nora had been.
Halfway through, my voice broke.
Travis went quiet.
For several seconds, I could hear him breathing.
Then he said, “You did what you could.”
I swallowed.
“I don't know if it was enough.”
“Ray.”
I closed my eyes.
He continued.
“You got him help.”
I looked toward my hand.
The scraped knuckle had dried.
My fingers still shook.
“What if he doesn't make it?”
Travis didn't offer the kind of empty promise people sometimes give when they don't know what else to say.
He didn't tell me everything would be fine.
He didn't tell me I was a hero.
He simply said, “Then you'll have been there when somebody needed you.”
I stared toward the parking lot.
For some reason, that made me cry.
I turned away from the entrance.
Covered my eyes.
And sat there while my friend stayed on the phone.
After a while, Travis spoke again.
“Don't ride while you're shaking like that.”
I gave a tired laugh.
“You can't see me.”
“No. But I know you.”
He told me to find somewhere nearby, get some food, and rest before returning to the highway.
For once, I listened.
I rode slowly to a small motel a few minutes away.
Booked a room.
Took a shower.
Then sat on the edge of the bed with the television switched off.
The room smelled faintly of laundry detergent.
A cheap painting hung above the dresser.
Outside, I could hear cars passing.
I kept checking my phone.
Nothing.
I checked again.
Still nothing.
Around five that evening, Margaret Bennett called.
I answered before the second ring.
“Hello?”
Her voice sounded exhausted.
“Mr. Dawson?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“This is Nora's grandmother.”
I stood immediately.
“How is he?”
There was a pause.
My chest tightened.
Then she said, “He's alive.”
I closed my eyes.
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
She continued.
“They found a serious blockage in one of the arteries supplying his heart. The doctors treated it during an emergency procedure.”
I sat down slowly.
She explained that her son had suffered a cardiac arrest following a heart attack.
The medical team had restored circulation, and he was receiving close care.
The doctors were cautiously hopeful, but they were monitoring him carefully because recovery after a cardiac arrest could be unpredictable.
I listened.
Then whispered, “Thank God.”
Margaret began crying.
I could hear her trying to control it.
She apologized.
I told her she didn't need to.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then I asked about Nora.