Stand by Me (23 page)

Finally one of the paramedics took over for her, and Kat let herself be pulled up off her knees. Stumbling off the platform, she sank into a chair. Immediately Brygitta was beside her with a bottle of water. “Good heavens, Kat,” she hissed in her ear. “Where'd you learn to do that?”

Kat just shook her head, gulping the water. She was exhausted. The five men in the dark blue pants and jackets were strapping the limp body of the elderly pastor onto a wheeled gurney. Liquid dripped into his arm from a bottle held high by one of the paramedics. SouledOut men pushed chairs out of the way. A path opened up to the door. Kat's eyes followed the gurney as it was wheeled outside to the white fire department ambulance with its red and blue lettering and lights parked at the curb.

The rain had stopped.

People stood at the windows and watched as the gurney was loaded. Some were crying. The ambulance doors slammed shut. The siren wailed and pulled out of the parking lot.

Kat saw the Douglasses and a few others push through the doors and run for their cars. A moment later the black Lexus followed the ambulance. Two other cars did too.

Small groups of people were still praying. Some stood and held hands. Others pulled chairs into a circle. Parents collected their children and ushered them out of the building.

Kat still sat in the chair, elbows on her knees, head in her hands. She felt numb. Her mind was blank. How long she sat there, she didn't know. Finally she felt a hand on her shoulder. “Kat? Maybe we should go.” Nick's voice. Gentle. Kind. “We can walk back to the apartment. Rain has stopped. Walking will be good.”

He took her hand and helped her up out of the chair. She let him lead her through the jumble of chairs, around groups of people still praying, still crying. Livie and Brygitta were waiting with her jacket and Bible. They pushed out the double doors. But as they walked across the parking lot to Clark Street, Kat looked back at the glass windows with SouledOut Community Church painted in big red letters across them.

What had she done? It was the first time she'd ever used CPR in a real situation. Was Pastor Clark going to make it? Did she do it right? What if—

And for the first time in a long time, Kat was afraid.

Chapter 21

A
s the automatic door of the ER at St. Francis Hospital slid open, Avis had to practically run to keep up with Peter as he strode up to the desk. “The man they just brought in—Hubert Clark. He collapsed in the middle of church. One of our pastors at SouledOut Community Church. Is he . . . how is he?”

The woman behind the glass window barely looked up from her computer. “And you are . . . ?”

“Peter Douglass. One of the church elders. How is—”

“Sir, you'll need to wait. Just take a seat in the waiting room. I'm sure someone will come out to talk to you directly. Does he have family that should be notified?”

Peter looked at Avis. She shook her head. Pastor Clark didn't have any immediate family. No wife or children. Sisters or brothers? She didn't know.

Peter left their names at the desk and slumped in a chair in the waiting room. But he stood up as the Meeks, Baxters, and David Brown came in.
Good, all the elders are here
, Avis thought. “We called Pastor Cobbs from the car,” she said. “I think he's on the way.”

Jodi glanced at Avis. “I thought he was sick,” she whispered. Avis grimaced.

“Have they told you anything?” David Brown asked.

Peter shook his head.

David was in his forties, maybe five-ten, light brown hair thinning on top, his face pockmarked from a severe case of teenage acne. He and Mary had three children, two boys in middle school and a girl in fifth grade, if Avis remembered correctly, though the girl didn't attend Bethune Elementary.

The men huddled together, talking quietly. Debra Meeks took a seat, shaking her head. Jodi Baxter slipped an arm around Avis. “Are you all right?”

Avis gave an absentminded nod. She was watching the huddle of men. Denny and David were white. Peter and Debra were black. She'd never thought anything about the racial makeup of the elders. Denny Baxter was just . . . Denny. A great guy. A great friend. She didn't know the Browns that well, even though they'd been at Uptown with Pastor Clark before the merge, same as she had. Did David have the same reservations about their racially diverse church as his wife, Mary? She'd have to ask Peter if he'd picked up anything on the elder board.

The automatic door slid open, and Pastor Joe Cobbs and his wife, Rose, came into the ER and headed their way. Beads of sweat dotted the forehead of the short, stocky copastor. Rose shook her head as they joined the group. “Joe shouldn't be here. But he wouldn't listen to me.” She looked from face to face. “How is Pastor Clark?”

Peter shook his head. “No word yet.”

They talked in quiet voices or just sat. Avis walked back and forth, praying silently. The words of Psalm 56 kept running through her prayer thoughts:
“When I am afraid, I will trust in
God . . . I trust in God, why should I be afraid?”

They'd been at the hospital thirty minutes when a man in a white coat came through the double doors that led to the “inner sanctum” and paused at the reception desk. The woman behind the window nodded in their direction. Almost as one they stood and faced the man.

“You're friends of Mr. Clark?” the doctor asked. His face was a neutral mask Avis couldn't read.

Pastor Cobbs spoke. “I'm Pastor Joe Cobbs. Pastor Clark is my copastor at SouledOut Community Church. He collapsed during the morning service. These are church leaders and friends.”

The doctor shook his head. “I'm sorry. Mr. Clark didn't make it. Both the paramedics and the doctors here kept working on him, but . . . the paramedics estimated his heart fully stopped even before they arrived at the church.”

Debra Meeks gasped. “Lord, have mercy!”

Peter groaned and reached for Avis. They stood a long moment holding on to one another. Avis, her face pressed against Peter's chest, felt numb. All she could think was,
What
now, Lord, what now?

Denny Baxter, who'd known Pastor Clark longer than any of them, and Joe and Rose Cobbs stayed at the hospital to make arrangements for Hubert's body to be taken to a funeral home. The rest of them reluctantly went home with the assignment to pass the word along to the rest of the church.

Peter and Avis were silent on the drive back to Rogers Park. Once they'd climbed the stairs to their third-floor apartment, Peter sank into his recliner, shaking his head. “I can't believe he's gone. Just like that.”

Avis sat on the arm of the recliner, facing him, stroking his close-cropped hair. “You've been worried about him for a while. We knew he wasn't well.”

“Yeah. I know. But . . . still wasn't prepared for him to go so suddenly.”

They sat together quietly for several long minutes. Suddenly Peter looked at her quizzically. “What happened to you this morning—before worship, I mean? I get that Pastor Clark asked you to fill in as worship leader at the last minute. He said as much. But where were you when service was supposed to start?”

The sour taste in her mouth returned. She was so tempted to blurt out the whole conversation she'd overheard in the ladies' restroom. By an elder's wife, at that! But she felt a check in her spirit. This wasn't the time. Pastor Clark had just died of a heart attack. Her offended sensibilities felt . . . almost petty in comparison.

“I'll explain later,” she murmured, bending forward to kiss her husband on the forehead. “Right now I think we need to make some calls. What letters of the alphabet did we say we'd take?”

They were halfway through the Ks, using both the kitchen phone and Peter's cell, when Avis heard a knock at the front door. “Someone's at the door, Terri. We don't know any details about funeral arrangements yet, but we'll call when we do.” The knocks came again. “I'm sorry. I need to go. Bye.”

Avis sighed. It had to be one of their new “neighbors” at the door. She opened it.

Nick Taylor stood on the landing, hands shoved in the front pockets of his jeans. “We, uh, heard you were home. Just footsteps,” he hastily added. “No problem. But . . . we wanted to know if you have any word about Pastor Clark. Especially Kat.

She's pretty upset.”

Avis's heart melted a little. The four students were too new to be in the church phone directory. But she should have realized they'd want to know. Especially the girl, after jumping in and giving the pastor CPR.

This wasn't news for standing on the landing. “Come in, Nick.” She opened the door wider and led the young man into the living room. She sat down on the couch and motioned for him to join her. “I'm sorry, Nick. We should have told you and your friends right away. Pastor Clark . . .” She shook her head. “He didn't make it. He's home with Jesus now.”

Nick's shoulders sagged. He shook his head slowly. “I . . . I can't believe it. We thought surely the CPR would keep him alive until the paramedics showed up. You're sure? He's dead?” Then he looked sheepish. “Of course you're sure. You don't say things like that unless you're sure.”

Avis just watched his face. The young man seemed truly distressed.

He sat on the couch for several minutes, his elbows leaning on his knees. Then he looked up at Avis. “Would you mind coming downstairs and telling the girls? I think Kat's going to take this pretty hard. It's the first time she's done CPR in a real situation. That it didn't save him . . .” Nick shook his head. “Maybe you could help her.”

“The first time?” Avis was startled. The girl had leaped into the situation as if she'd given CPR a dozen times. Bossy. Confident. No one had stopped her. No one had asked if she knew what she was doing. Probably because most of them didn't know CPR themselves and were glad someone—even someone as young as Kathryn Davies—looked as if she knew what she was doing.

Unwelcome thoughts crowded into her mind.
Had
the girl known what she was doing? If she had, would Pastor Clark still be alive?

No, no. She couldn't let her mind go there. But she wasn't sure she could reassure the girl either.

“I'm sorry, Nick. I'm afraid you'll have to bear the news. We have a lot of calls to make to let people in the church know that Pastor Clark died. But if we hear any more information, we'll be sure to let you know downstairs.” She stood up. “Do we have your phone numbers? Here's ours . . .”

Avis grabbed the church phone directory she'd been using and wrote down their names and numbers as Nick read them from his cell phone. Then she gave him their number, hoping it wasn't a mistake to do so. She didn't want a lot of calls from them about every little thing.

Nick seemed reluctant to leave but finally went back downstairs. Avis immediately called the Hickmans, the next number on the list.

The phone was picked up on the first ring. “That you, Avis? What's the word, girl? Me an' Carl 'bout ready to go crazy over here.”

“Oh, Florida. Pastor Clark didn't make it. It was a major heart attack. He's gone.”

Avis heard the gasp in her ear. Then, “Carl! Carl! Get on the phone!” A second phone picked up, and Avis repeated her sad news.