The Man in the Rain
The rain had been falling over downtown Portland since before sunrise.
By eight-thirty that morning, the sidewalks had become mirrors.
Cars moved through sheets of water. Umbrellas collided beneath the awnings. Office workers hurried from parking garages to glass towers, protecting laptops and expensive coats while ignoring everyone else.
Emma Blake stood beneath the narrow awning outside the Weston Financial Center and tried to protect the only thing she had left that mattered.
Her résumé.
It was already getting wet.
She held the folder against her chest and checked the time on her phone.
8:47 a.m.
Her interview was scheduled for 9:00.
Twelve minutes.
Twelve minutes to get through security, take the elevator to the thirty-second floor, introduce herself to a hiring director, and convince him that she deserved a position she had spent six months trying to obtain.
Emma looked down at herself.
Dark navy suit.
White blouse.
Black flats.
No designer handbag.
No expensive watch.
No family connection.
Just a résumé, a borrowed umbrella, and enough determination to make the last year of her life mean something.
She took a breath.
“Okay.”
She stepped away from the awning.
The wind immediately turned the umbrella inside out.
Emma closed her eyes.
“Oh, come on.”
A gust tore the umbrella from her hand.
It rolled down the sidewalk.
A passing taxi splashed a wave of brown water over her trousers.
Emma stared at the taxi disappearing into traffic.
For three seconds, she simply stood there.
Then she laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because if she didn't laugh, she might cry.
She ran toward the entrance.
The Weston Financial Center was one of the most prestigious buildings in the city.
Its lobby was enormous.
Marble floors.
Brass elevators.
Security guards in dark uniforms.
People who belonged there walked as if the building had been constructed specifically for them.
Emma entered looking like someone who had lost an argument with the weather.
Her hair was soaked.
Her résumé folder was dripping.
Her shoes squeaked.
She stopped beside a column and tried to dry the papers with her sleeve.
That's when she noticed him.
A man was standing near the curb outside.
At first, Emma thought he was simply waiting for a car.
He wore an expensive charcoal suit.
No umbrella.
No coat.
His silver-gray hair was plastered against his forehead.
He was probably in his sixties.
He looked successful.
Powerful.
The kind of man who could walk into a boardroom and have everyone stop speaking.
Then he staggered.
Emma looked up.
The man grabbed the edge of a concrete planter.
His hand slipped.
He dropped to one knee.
Someone nearby shouted.
“Sir?”
The man collapsed.
His body struck the pavement.
People stopped.
Phones appeared.
Emma didn't think.
She dropped her folder.
Papers exploded across the sidewalk.
She ran.
“Call 911!”
Nobody moved.
Several people were already filming.
Emma dropped to her knees beside him.
“Sir?”
No response.
She checked his breathing.
Nothing.
She touched his neck.
No pulse.
“Oh God.”
She had taken a first-aid course at community college.
She remembered the instructor's voice.
If they aren't breathing, don't wait for someone else.
Emma placed both hands on his chest.
“Come on.”
She started compressions.
“One, two, three, four…”
Rain soaked her hair.
Her knees became numb against the pavement.
People continued watching.
One woman whispered:
“Is he dead?”
Emma didn't look up.
“Call an ambulance!”
Someone finally answered.
“I did!”
“Good!”
Emma kept going.
“Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine…”
The man's face was pale.
His eyes were closed.
His expensive suit was soaked through.
Emma pushed harder.
“Come on!”
Her arms began to hurt.
“Breathe!”
Nothing.
She kept going.
The world narrowed to the rhythm beneath her hands.
Push.
Release.
Push.
Release.
“Please.”
She wasn't sure whether she was talking to him or herself.
“Please don't die.”
Then she felt it.
A weak movement beneath her palms.
She stopped for half a second.
“Come on.”
She began again.
Sirens approached.
An ambulance stopped at the curb.
Two paramedics ran toward them.
“Move back!”
Emma shifted aside.
One paramedic checked the man's pulse.
The other attached equipment.
“Good compressions,” the first said.
“He wasn't breathing.”
“I know.”
They continued working.
Emma stood.
Her hands were shaking.
She looked around.
Her résumé pages were scattered everywhere.
Some were stuck to the pavement.
Some had been carried halfway down the block.
Her interview folder was destroyed.
The ambulance doors closed.
One paramedic looked at Emma before climbing inside.
“You saved his life.”
Then the doors shut.
The ambulance disappeared into traffic.
Emma stood in the rain.
She looked at the time.
9:04.
Her interview was gone.
She bent down and collected what remained of her résumé.
Her fingers trembled.
One page had turned into gray pulp.
Another was ripped across the middle.
She laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
Emma almost ignored it.
Then she answered.
“Hello?”
A man's voice came through.
“Miss Blake?”
“Yes?”