“Shit,” Mike hissed.
I scrambled to my feet and went back to his side. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”
I tried to dust off the mark my shoe left on his uniform, but he brushed me off. “Damn it, Jules, get me an ambulance!”
“Right. Sorry.” I wiped my sweaty palms against my pants and went to grab my phone.
Tears pooled in the corners of my eyes. Did I have to be such a screw up right this second? I mean, I had another seven hours left in this day. It would be much appreciated—by Mike and me—if I could cash in the bumbling nervous crap after I got off work.
Sweet baby cheeses, get it together. My coworker was having a heart attack, and I was the one having a mental breakdown. No time for that. He needed help—and quick. Squashing down those thoughts, I beelined it to my phone and pulled it together long enough to rattle off the address I found on the back of a printer protection plan pamphlet.
The dispatcher assured me an ambulance was five minutes out. Good. The faster we got him out of here, the better chances he’d have at a full recovery. Even though my pulse hammered like I was going into cardiac arrest, and my mind raced a million miles a minute, I needed to hold it together. This was going to be my life in five years. Hopefully the jittery factor would diminish with a med school degree. But as of right now, instead of M.D. after my name, I was Jules Carmichael: employee at Office Jax—pushing protection plans, memberships, and listening to people’s printer woes.
I kept the phone pressed to my ear, followed the operator’s instructions to stay on the line, and told Mike, “They’ll be here soon.” I took his hand in my own and squeezed. “It’ll be all right. My grandpa had a heart attack a few years back. EMTs get here really fast.”
Mike looked up, his eyes assessing whether or not to believe me. “Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm.” I massaged his palm, thinking back to fishing with my grandpa on the dock of his Georgia estate. I’d spend three weeks every summer in Peach Grove. Three weeks filled with fishing, drive-in movies, ice cream, and more fishing. Without fail, he’d catch the biggest fish in the lake, releasing it as soon as he reeled it in. We’d continue this until lunchtime when Nanna brought us PB and Js. God, I missed him.
“What happened?”
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. Crap. “Oh, uh—”
His face fell. “He didn’t make it, huh?”
I inwardly groaned. Votes tabulated, official results: Jules wins worst comforter in emergency situations. “No.” Girl, you are going to need some better material to comfort future patients.
I mentally side-eyed my subconscious. No shit, Sherlock.
We remained in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, Mike focusing on his breathing, me focusing on not screwing up anymore, occasionally updating the operator. Rocking back on my heels, I stared at the shiny tip of my stiletto boot, a scuff mark on the floor, anywhere but Mike. Bile crept up my throat, and I quickly tamped it down, focusing on breathing through my nose and not upsetting him any further. Heck, after that slapstick routine, he probably expected me to do something as messed up as puking on him by now.
A few minutes later, the ambulance careened through the parking lot, and two first responders jumped out and rushed inside to Mike. I stepped back and watched them haul him away in the bus. I blew out a sigh and leaned against the counter, blocking out “Ice Ice Baby,” which threatened to make my ears bleed. One week on the job and I already wanted to tear out the speaker system in this place. Throwback songs were cool, just not ones from the decade of inflatable furniture and Tamagotchi’s.
Jack came back a couple minutes after the ambulance left and let me off early. I clocked out and made my way to my Subaru in the parking lot, barely holding it together, hands violently trembling. I slid into the car and pressed my head into the back of the worn leather seat. What was up with me back there? So much for calm and collected.
What would Mom say? I screwed my eyes shut, dots swarming against the darkness. She’d say that the medical field was the only reliable job market nowadays and to suck it up. I agreed, it was reliable, and I was ready for the payoff when I graduated med school.
I opened the glove compartment and pulled out a stick of gum and popped it in my mouth, chewing it until my jaw ached. I focused on pushing away the self-destruction looming along the peripherals of my frontal lobe.
That was some scary shit back there. I’d never actually seen anyone have a heart attack before. Watching it on TV, I could remain an impartial third party, yell at the characters on the screen, wipe drool off my face while the hottie doctor saved the patient. But in real life, I realized just how underprepared I was to handle those types of situations.