Three and a Half Minutes
Three and a Half Minutes
A Novel
Caroline Fyffe
Three and a Half Minutes
Copyright © 2012 by Caroline Fyffe
www.carolinefyffe.com
Three and a Half Minutes is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, or persons, living or dead, is wholly coincidental.
All rights reserved
No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, recording, by information storage and retrieval or photocopied, without permission in writing from Caroline Fyffe.
Cover design by Kelli Ann Morgan
Interior book design by Bob Houston eBook Formatting
Proudly Published in the United States of America
ISBN #978-0-9840146-7-5
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Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Excerpt from Montana Dawn
Books by Caroline Fyffe
About the Author
Acknowledgments
My deepest gratitude goes to our dear friend, Father Peter Auer, for his generous gifts of time, talent, and smiles spent with the Catholic portions of this novel, the tricky German dialog, and so much more—but mostly for the insightful spiritual guidance throughout the years. Also, to my girlfriend and fellow photographer, Cheryl Magoteaux Cody, for encouraging me to write the book in the first place.
Thank you!
Chapter One
Portland, Oregon
Camille Ashland breathed deeply and glanced at the clock on the wall. She ignored the slight queasiness in her stomach and handed a receipt to the young woman she was helping. No doubt about it, she loved and hated Valentine’s Day. As owner of Chocolate Blossoms, a chocolate, flower, and perfume specialty store, Camille looked forward to the day created for lovers even though it meant utter exhaustion.
“What’s wrong?” Suzie asked, touching Camille’s shoulder gently. “You don’t look well. Are you feeling okay?”
Camille rubbed her chest. “Just indigestion from that spicy shrimp scampi I had for lunch. I should know better by now.” She laughed. “Actually, I’m thinking about Mom too. Today’s the anniversary of my father’s death. Every year around this time, she gets a bit melancholy. Even after all these years. I wish there was something more I could do for her…”
Suzie tucked a sprig of baby’s breath into the bow on the package she was wrapping. “Go on and call her. Pam and I can handle this.”
Camille mentally calculated the number of people still waiting to be helped. They’d be here for another hour at least. “That’s a good idea. How about I take the next customer before I sneak off?” She leaned in and whispered, “He looks a bit impatient.”
Chocolate Blossoms’ tiny, yet charming display area was crammed with shoppers eager to find the perfect gift for their special someone. Camille smiled and waved the gentleman forward from the line that curled around the room. “Next.”
He stepped forward in a rumpled blue suit.
She smiled. “May I help you?”
He nodded, then pointed to one of the display baskets on the counter. “That’s nice.”
“Yes. That’s the Berry-Cherry Chocolate Basket. It’s filled with milk chocolate hearts, chocolate-covered cherries, and blueberries. White roses and baby’s breath adorn the center and handle. It runs forty-one ninety-five.”
His lips tipped up. “I’ll take it.”
At his quick decision, her smile widened. “Perfect. Are you registered here?”
He looked through his wallet, then handed Camille his Chocolate Blossoms card. She swiped the pink and green card thinking how much he resembled her husband, Bret, deceased now for eight years. How she wished Bret could see her hard-won success. “Do you ever finish anything, Camille?” he’d asked her more times than she’d like to remember. “Just do it!” Bitterness threatened her mood. Even though spoken in jest, she knew his words were meant to hurt, just a little. He’d thought her a quitter. Had said it more times than not. But it wasn’t true. As was her habit, she glanced at the Post-it note she’d stuck to the front of her monitor. FINISH IT! bolstered her resolve.
The customer’s account flashed on her screen. “So, Mr. Snyder, how did Mrs. Snyder like the Sinfully Rich Chocolate Tower you purchased for her birthday?”
He chuckled softly and his brows rose in amusement. “She loved it. That’s why I’m back today. I’m sure she’ll be expecting something equally as wonderful tomorrow. You do have a racket going.”
Camille’s face warmed with the compliment. “That’s the idea,” she said as she hurried to the back room for a pre-made version of his selection. Back again, she took a few moments to check it over to be sure it was perfect, then nodded approvingly. “It’s actually a personal favorite of mine.”
Without warning, a white-hot pain seared through Camille’s chest and sliced down her left arm. Terrified, she wheezed, and struggled to get even a thimbleful of air into her lungs. Before she was able to say a word, a crushing force from within, more frightening than the pain she still felt, slammed into her torso with the strength of a truck, making her cry out in shock. She clawed at the neckline of her blouse.
A collage of horrified expressions spun out of control before her eyes. She slumped over the countertop, knocking chocolate-laden baskets, flowers, and colorful bottles of perfume to the floor. She wished she could cover her ears, block the cacophony of screeching, incoherent voices, and breaking glass. A macabre kaleidoscope filled her vision. She thought she heard Suzie’s panicked voice screaming for someone to call 911.
An awareness of her daughter, her beautiful, tenderhearted Kristin, flashed somewhere inside, followed quickly by an image of Bret and another of her parents. Bits and pieces of her life played out in fast-forward, flooding her heart with love, anger, joy, and sorrow. Compressed moments in time enveloped her, bringing with them the emotions she’d experienced and with whom. They shot through her at the speed of light, and she wondered how she could understand any of it. But she did. Every fleeting millisecond.
Was she dying? The thought of never seeing Kristin again produced an overwhelming agony, one far worse than the physical pain tearing her body
apart. She wanted to live. There were too many things left to do. She wanted to find love again. Passion. She wasn’t ready to die, ready to give up her dreams, ready to go before finishing any of it.
She slid to the floor. Everything went black.
Almost instantly, she was awake again and a slight snapping sensation cleared her thoughts. Her panic evaporated. The pain vanished and she suddenly felt wonderful—the best she had in her entire life. Light and breezy. The shop seemed brighter, different.
Suzie and Pam, as well as Mr. Snyder, were huddled together as if looking at something on the floor. She called to them, trying to get their attention. She needed to tell them she felt better now, and that everything was okay.
They couldn’t hear her over all the commotion reverberating around in her small shop. People were whispering behind their hands. Others were crying. Customers left the store without completing their purchases. Camille tried to stop them, asked them to wait, but no one paid her any mind.
With a burst of frosty February air, two EMTs rushed in, one she recognized as Wade Moss, the other a stranger. They cleared the area where Pam and Suzie knelt.
Camille gasped. A woman was lying on the floor next to the display case. Her ghostly white face stood out sharply on the deep emerald and crimson of the floral tapestry rug.
Camille felt a resounding shock.
It was her face. Her body.
And yet, she looked different. Younger. Prettier than she remembered herself in the flat reflection of a mirror.
Was she dead? She must be.
Wade shook her shoulder. “Camille!”
He tipped her head back and pulled her chin up. At the same time, he placed his ear close to her mouth, listening. Putting a mask over her mouth and nose, he squeezed the air bag slowly once, then repeated the process. Placing two fingers on the artery in her neck, he checked for a pulse.
Camille watched with interest. These were people she loved. It hurt deeply to see them in such a state of distress. She needed to tell them she was okay. Happier than she’d ever been. It felt good and so natural to be rid of that encumbering coat of skin.
Wade’s companion cut away Camille’s blouse and bra in one quick motion. She was sure she should feel some embarrassment at being exposed to the bystanders like that, but she didn’t. He proceeded to apply two round pads, one centered above her left breast and the other more to the left side, and lower. He hooked them to a small machine he’d brought in with him. Wade continued with the chest compressions he was administering.
“Still no pulse,” Wade said, remaining steady and calm as he worked.
The other EMT flipped on a switch. His finger hovered over a button waiting for the signal. Wade nodded. A computerized female voice prompted, “Shock advised.”
Wade never took his gaze from Camille’s face as the numbers on the display raced up toward 300 joules. As the power climbed, an ascending hum of the machine mingled eerily with soft classical music that played in the background.
“Stand clear,” Wade commanded. At the exact moment he pressed the button, Camille’s body jerked violently as an electrical shock shot from one pad to the other.
Wade’s partner pressed the analyze button again. “Shock advised.”
“Charge.” The red light glowed.
Pam cried out and Suzie turned into her arms, weeping openly.
Camille watched from the ceiling where her spirit floated weightlessly. Even though she felt no pain, she didn’t like to watch as the electrical shock violated her body, making it react so abhorrently. It looked grotesque.
“Clear,” Wade said again.
Camille squeezed her eyes tightly closed and covered her ears.
Chapter Two
A bright light pierced Camille’s left eye, the intensity of it sending bursts of pain shooting throughout her brain. Ever so gently, the lid was lowered and the other eyelid was slowly lifted. Light now pervaded it.
“Camille, can you hear me?”
A voice. There was a voice calling to her. Camille cried out sadly as the voice chased away the wonderful sensation she was floating in. Like a dream, but a million times better. No, please, she thought, as she turned a full circle looking for the feeling that almost had a form. She was suspended in a sea of utter happiness, an embrace of overwhelming love.
Reluctantly, she opened her eyes.
Stephanie Ashland, her doctor and also Bret’s younger sister, bent over her, worry shadowing her attractive face. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a taut ponytail and her white smock dangled loosely around her body.
“Hello, stranger,” she whispered softly.
Camille looked at her for a few moments, then let her gaze wander around the room. She tried to make some sense of what had happened, why she was lying in a hospital bed with numerous tubes sticking out of her like a flattened porcupine on the side of the highway. Everything was jumbled in her head. It hurt to even think.
“I’m alive?” She struggled to smile but it felt more like a grimace.
“Yes.”
Camille’s eyes slowly lowered. “I’m so sleepy.”
“It’s the drugs. If you’re still drowsy, let them do their job. Don’t be frightened. You’re in the hospital and I’m staying at your side.”
The hum and beeping of monitors and machines in the ICCU were frightening. Lights blazed brightly. Nurses came and went, checking charts and equipment. Someone down the hall moaned.
“What happened?”
“You had a heart attack. As soon as your condition stabilizes, I’m sending you into surgery. It’s a relatively easy procedure where they’ll go up to your cardiac arteries through your groin and insert two stents.”
Camille did her best to digest what Stephanie had just said. “Heart attack? But I’m only,” she had to stop and think how old she turned on her last birthday, “forty-four.”
“Shhh. We’ll talk about that later. Right now you need to rest.”
A sudden panic gripped Camille. “Kristin? Where is she? Does she know?”
“Yes. Your mom picked her up from school as soon as she was notified. They’ve been sitting here for hours. She’s with Ellen now getting a cup of hot chocolate.”
“Steph?”
Stephanie took her cool hand and warmed it with her own. “Yes?”
“I was dead.”
Stephanie’s expression was guarded. “Why do you say that?”
“I remember leaving my body and watching as Wade Moss revived me. It was Wade, right?”
Stephanie’s thumb brushed back and forth across her hand. “Yes, it was Wade. As a matter of fact, he’s been here too, pacing around the waiting room like a tiger, and sneaking in from time to time. He left only moments ago but said he’d come back to check on you a little later.”
“How long was I—gone?”
Stephanie made a spot for herself on the side of the bed and sat for a moment, just looking at Camille. “Three and a half minutes,” she answered gently. “But all this can wait.” She smoothed Camille’s hair back and then bent down and kissed her forehead. “Don’t worry about anything. Just snuggle down into your covers and enjoy a day off. A novelty for you, I know, but you might surprise yourself and come to like it.”
Camille sat with feet curled beneath her in her favorite cozy chair, a spot of late afternoon sunshine warming her face. She flipped through her day planner, noticing the seven days since she’d been home from the hospital with absolutely nothing penciled in. It was hard to believe. Valentine’s Day had come and gone without her, and the store had survived. Suzie and Pam were handling the business just fine. Still, it wasn’t in her nature to sit back and let someone else take the reins. There were decisions to make, advertisements to place, and window decorations and displays to be changed. I need to get back to work.
Kristin came bopping into the living room and, like most junior-high-aged girls, had her cell phone glued to her ear. Holes in her jeans showed both knees and her tee shirt was one
size too small. Her glossy hair, a rich nut color, hung down her back in one long layer.
Kristin closed her phone and slipped it into her pocket. “That was Grandma. She’s bringing dinner over. She’s here now so I’m gonna go help her bring it in.”
“Going. Going to go help her,” Camille corrected softly, enjoying the sight of Kristin. Since her brush with death, Camille had learned to appreciate every living moment, regardless of how small or insignificant it seemed.
The doorbell chimed and Stephanie let herself in, passing Kristin on her way out. They gave each other a high five.
“Good news?” Camille asked as they hugged.
Stephanie held out a folder. “All the results are here.”
“Fantastic. I’m half-crazy from sitting around this house. When can I start back to work?”
“Hold on, now. Not so fast.”
Ellen and Kristin were back, their arms laden with bags and packages. Camille stopped her mother’s progress across the room. “Let me take those.”
“No, no. They’re light. Kristin has all the heavy bags. You keep doing what you were doing with Stephanie, and Kristin and I will get dinner on the table.”
Camille kissed her mother’s cheek. “You’re an angel.”
When the kitchen door closed, Stephanie seated herself on the couch and patted the spot next to her. She began gently, “The tests aren’t quite what I was hoping for, Camille. Your case is a little more problematic than I’d originally thought.”
Worry chased away Camille’s cheerful mood. She sank onto the sofa next to her sister-in-law. “I’m a case now, huh,” she said with a forced grin, trying not to read too much into Stephanie’s expression. “Why? I’ve been a runner for years. I’ve never smoked. I eat too much Ben and Jerry’s, I suppose, but other than that?”
“Your dad passed away from the same kind of heart disease before he was fifty.”