Llewellyn said drowsily, "Nothing would compel Mary to sound like Longfellow."
I grinned at him. "True. She was well-taught. No bumpity-bump meters for Ma."
He took a swallow of the bitter red wine. "You have a way with words."
"No, sir, I do not. The Wandworth eloquence skipped a generation. Ma always says she
should have named me Audrey."
Both men looked at me.
"You know, in
As You Like It
--Jacques's shepherdess."
"'I would the gods had made thee poetical'?" Dai Llewellyn gave a crack of laughter.
I was pleased with my little joke, though Bill had the uneasy look of one who doesn't
quite get it.
Llewellyn was still choking. It took me a second to realize he was not choking with
laughter.
I jumped up. "What's the matter?"
"Wine..." He gave a convulsive shudder and leaned forward. The wine glass tipped over
on the little metal table between us. Red liquid puddled the white enamel.
I set the glass upright. As I reached out with the vague idea of helping him to his feet, he
began to vomit.
Bill shot up, overturning his chair. I took Llewellyn's shoulders. "Help me. He's
sick."
Jay was at Llewellyn's other side before the words were out. He must have seen we were
in trouble.
The poet's frail body shuddered under my hands as he retched up his dinner. Bill was
making bleating noises.
I tried to pat Llewellyn's shoulders. "Can we take him into the house?"
Jay met my eyes briefly. He was frowning. "In a minute. Bill, go for the phone--911. Tell
them to send the life-flight helicopter."
"Good God, he's just sick, ate a bad egg or something."
"Do it, man."
After a moment of hesitation Bill shambled off toward the house. The others had come
closer, Lydia and Denise clinging to each other, all staring. I noticed they stood out of splattering
range in their finery. Miguel, crying out in Spanish, ran up with a bar towel.
Jay took it from him and rapped out an order in the same language. Llewellyn grabbed at
the damp towel and tried to wipe his face, but a second wave of nausea racked him, and the towel
fell to the grass.
Miguel picked up the Campari glass, all the while wailing in high-pitched Spanish. As
he took the glass away, he called something over his shoulder.
"Your pills, sir..." Jay bent over. "No, it's too soon. Janey, bring blankets. And check
with your dad. I want that chopper."
Janey dashed off, with Lydia trotting after her. Winton D'Angelo was holding Denise,
who was weeping on his polo shirt. The Peltzes gaped. They were holding hands. Llewellyn
vomited until he was heaving dryly. When Janey came back with a pillow and an armload of
blankets, Jay had her spread them on the grass. She said Lydia was with Bill. The helicopter was
hauling victims of a car wreck to the county hospital. They were sending an ambulance in case it
took too long. She made her report in a high breathless voice while she spread the blankets a few
yards away, and Jay and I held Llewellyn.
Slowly Llewellyn's spasms eased, and he sank back on the chair, shuddering under our
hands.
"Now, sir," Jay said, "we're going to help you over to those clean blankets. Miguel said
you take heart pills."
"Digitalis. Shirt pocket. Chest hurts." He stumbled as we half-carried him to Janey's
pallet. She handed Jay a damp towel, and he wiped Llewellyn's face and shirt clean when he had
eased the old man down. Llewellyn lay on his side, half-curled in a fetal crouch. Jay swaddled
him with extra blankets, and I slipped the small pillow Janey had brought beneath his head. He
seemed to be drowsing.
"Should you give him the digitalis?" I had seen the outline of the little silver pillbox
against the damp shirt. I eased the box out. "Do these look right?"
Jay was taking Llewellyn's pulse. "Thready," he muttered. "Jesus."
"Digitalis," I repeated.
"Uh, yeah...no." He took the box and looked at the pills. "I wish I knew whether he'd
taken one in the last couple of days."
"Last night. I saw him."
Jay frowned at me. "Are you sure?"
"Same pillbox."
He slipped the box in his pants pocket and began checking the pulse rate again.
Llewellyn stirred. "Sir, Dai, can you hear me?"
"Mmn."
"Can you tell me how you feel?"
"Mouth burns."
No wonder--all that stomach acid.
"Tingles," he mumbled after a moment, blinking. "Hands feel funny. Eyes all blurry."
His jaunty waxed mustachios had wilted.
Jay was muttering under his breath. Abruptly he stood up and looked around. "D'Angelo,
Peltz, clear the chairs and tables off the lawn. I want you to mark off a place for the chopper to
land. That flat area by the boat dock. Let's hope the damned thing gets here before dark. If not
you'll have to drive cars down here to light up the grass."
I was still kneeling by Llewellyn. I smoothed his hair. His breathing came shallow and
quick. It was dusk, still fairly light out, but hard to tell colors. I was looking at his lips. If he had
trouble getting enough oxygen they were supposed to turn blue.
"Oh, God, don't let him die!" Denise moaned. She made to kneel by me.
"Take her into the house," Jay snarled. Janey and Angharad Peltz almost had to drag
Denise off Llewellyn's body, but they eventually persuaded her to go into the house with them.
She moaned all the way.
D'Angelo and a very subdued Ted Peltz began dragging the lawn chairs and little tables
to the veranda. Miguel was back, wringing his hands. I had never seen anyone actually do that,
not even Denise. His beautiful dark eyes were wide with anxiety, and he seemed to have
forgotten the English language. Jay said something to him in rapid Spanish, and he nodded and
began helping with the chairs.
Jay knelt down again and took a pulse.
When he finished, I cleared my throat. "What do you think?"
"I think the chopper will come, and they'll transport him to the hospital." He looked over
at me and touched my face briefly. "Take it easy. Do you know CPR?"
"Naturally." I had learned it in college and relearned it the previous November as part of
my certification to coach at Monte J.C. They had wanted me to teach a hygiene class, too, but I
had to draw the line somewhere.
Jay nodded. He didn't say anything else. Llewellyn's light quick breathing shook the
mounded blankets. I wondered if our words had registered with him and hoped not.
Bill made his way back to us and gave the same report Janey had made. He sounded
aggrieved. Lydia was helping Janey and Angharad cope with Denise, he said. "Is it a heart
attack?"
"Probably." Jay spoke quietly.
Bill shuffled his feet in the grass. "Domingo wants to know should he make
something."
"Not for Llewellyn. Tell him to brew up coffee for the rest of you."
"Okay." Bill wandered off.
Llewellyn's breathing had quickened, and Jay was frowning at his watch, trying to time
the heartbeat. Suddenly the old man's body jerked. His back arched, and his face contorted
horribly, eyes rolling back in his head.
"Back off!" Jay shouted.
I scrambled out of the way, but the convulsions didn't last long. All too quickly
Llewellyn lay still on the crumpled blanket, and Jay was feeling his throat for a carotid pulse.
"Cardiac arrest."
"Want me to do the chest?"
"Breathe for him." Jay straightened the still form, clearing the old man's tongue and
wiping his face clean.
I knelt, removed the pillow, and slid my left hand under his neck to tilt his head back. I
put the heel of my right hand on his forehead and reached down to pinch his nostrils shut. Then I
took a lungful of air and puffed four sharp breaths into his mouth. His chest rose. I could taste
bile.
Jay was kneeling opposite me and down a bit. He had found the breastbone and
measured up from it with his thumb the requisite inch and a half. He pressed straight down with
the heel of his hand--not too hard--and relaxed and pressed again, once every second. He was
counting so I could hear the time--one thousand and one, one thousand and two... Every five
seconds I breathed for Dai Llewellyn. Every second Jay pressed his chest. We found our rhythm
almost at once.
I was vaguely aware of D'Angelo and Ted Peltz running up with questions. Miguel was
sobbing. After fifteen minutes Jay tried for a pulse again. No dice. We kept rhythm. Eventually
we changed over, still keeping time. It was like a bizarre, squatting dance--or a strange poetic
meter. Boom, boom, boom, boom, puff. Llewellyn didn't like meter.
Bill Huff and Janey came down, and Jay told Bill to phone again, that we had an
infarction. Bill ran off.
Sometime in the afterglow one of the others had the wit to turn on all the yard lights.
They didn't quite reach the flat area by the boat dock, and D'Angelo and Janey eventually moved
four of the cars down, shining their headlights so the landing spot was lit. Jay and I kept to our
rhythm. It was all-absorbing, and it went on and on.
Finally we heard the wail of an ambulance siren in the distance. We kept our rhythm
even as the emergency vehicle jounced down onto the lawn and the doors were thrown open.
Then the pros took over with their fibrillators and oxygen tanks and injections. Dai
Llewellyn, still not breathing on his own, still without an independent heartbeat, was bundled
onto the gurney and into the ambulance. The life-flight helicopter was dealing with a massive
chain-reaction accident on I-5.
Jay had called for Miguel as soon as the paramedics relieved us. Now the kid came
running with a paper sack. Jay took it from him, peered into it, and handed the sack to an
attendant.
"He was drinking wine, Campari, when the attack started. Some of the
symptoms--prolonged nausea, tingling, hands feeling peculiar--made me think he might have ingested a
poison. I saved the glass. Better check it out. I'm Dodge, county C.I.D. It may be a police
matter."
The two men spoke quietly, and I don't think anyone else heard them, though the others
were standing on the veranda, watching. They had seen Miguel run up with the sack.
Poison. Surely not. Food poisoning, maybe, except nobody else had sickened. If it was
poison, that meant attempted murder. My thoughts raced.
One of the paramedics was in the ambulance with Llewellyn. The other slammed the
doors and got in the passenger side, paper bag in hand, and the ambulance jounced off. Its light
revolved. There was a brief yelp of the siren as it pulled onto the county road.
Jay put his arm around my shoulders. "All right?"
I took a deep breath. "Yes, I'm fine. How about you?"
"I'd be happier if the damned chopper had showed up. That's a long drive."
"Do you really think he was..."
"Hush."
I bit my lip and tasted bile. At least I hoped it was bile. "I want to brush my teeth and
rinse out my mouth."
"Me, too."
We walked over to the porch, tails dragging, and were instantly surrounded. Everybody
gabbled questions at us at once, Bill in a journalistic roar.
Jay held up a hand. "Give us a break. We need to clean up. Have a cup of coffee or move
the cars or something, and we'll be back down in ten minutes."
We trudged upstairs and took turns gargling. My turquoise dress had grass stains at knee
level.
Jay was standing by the open window staring through the screen at the lake. He had
pulled on a pair of sweatpants, but he was barefoot and shirtless.
I blinked the sleep from my eyes. "Jay..."
He started and turned.
"S'matter?" I stretched.
"Nothing. Go back to sleep." He yanked a tee shirt over his head.
I thought about dozing off again, but our CPR marathon was coming back to me and
with it all kinds of questions.
Jay sat on the foot of the bed and began to put on his sneakers. I poked his backside with
my toe. "Can't sleep?"
He bent over, mumbling something as he laced his shoes.
I rose on one elbow. "You're going for a run? At four in the morning? It's pitch black
out."
He sat up and turned. "I had a nightmare." He kept his voice low. We did have
neighbors. "When that happens I go for a run. Don't let it bother you."
I reached out and touched his face. It was cold with drying sweat. "Okay. Hang on a
minute and I'll come with you."
I slid out and rummaged for the shorts and top I'd changed into after the ambulance left.
As I scuffed into my sneakers I could hear his low-voiced protests. I ignored them. I tied the
sleeves of a sweatshirt around my waist. Maybe Jay wanted to be alone. I didn't. Also I was wide
awake. A stroll by the lake might calm me down enough to sleep again. I didn't think he was
serious about running in the dark.
I was wrong. When we had bumbled our way outside, Jay headed for the long stretch of
county highway behind the lodge. It wasn't pitch black out. The stars were shining, and an
outdoor light still burned by the graveled driveway, but it was dark enough. Jay was trotting by
the time he reached the gravel, and running flat out and uphill when he stepped onto the asphalt
road.
I followed at a discreet jog, mindful of the uneven surface, though I could see better than
I'd expected to. Jay ran on the white midstripe, half out of my sight and lengthening his lead. I
picked up my pace a little but slowed down again when I twisted my ankle on a piece of gravel.
Jay had rounded a corner. Bemused and beginning to worry, I jogged after him.
I wondered how Llewellyn was doing. It had been Jay's single-minded intensity that had
kept me to the exhausting and rather disgusting CPR process. If I had been alone I would have
given up after the first half hour. Llewellyn had not responded.
The road twisted upward, and I was starting to puff a little. I couldn't see Jay. A
nightmare? His skin had felt clammy, almost like a person in shock. I'd had that kind of
nightmare myself. This wasn't the first time I'd encountered disaster. Often enough, Jay had been
there for me, holding me and talking to me until I remembered who and where I was, and that I
was going to be all right. My response to nightmare had been to cling to Jay. Obviously his
response differed from mine. That was an oddly desolating thought.