Then Ernest's chair scraped sharply across the floor. Maya turned. He had pushed himself halfway up. One hand gripped the table. The other reached toward the edge of the counter.
Mr. Cole? His face had gone pale. I'm fine. He was not. His knees softened.
Maya crossed the room before the mug beside him finished rattling. She caught him under the arms and guided him into the chair instead of letting him fall. Easy. I just stood too fast. Sit.
I am sitting. Good. Stay there. Lisa came around the counter. Ernest?
Maya crouched beside him. Are you dizzy? A little. Any chest pain? No.
Short of breath? He shook his head. Maya touched his wrist, watching his face. Did you eat? Ernest glanced at the half-finished toast on his plate.
Apparently not enough. Maya reached for the water. Slow sips. Lisa grabbed the phone. I'm calling somebody.
Ernest protested. Don't make a production out of this. You nearly met the floor, Lisa said. You've lost voting rights. Maya almost laughed.
Ernest's color slowly began to return. They stayed with him for 10 minutes. Then another 15. He tried twice to stand. Maya stopped him both times.
"You're going to miss class," he said. "I have another bus." "You young people say that like buses grow on trees." "You said mine needs a belt." "That's different."
A woman hurried through the front door 20 minutes later. Ernest's niece, Carla Cole, 46, still wearing a hospital billing office badge around her neck. She rushed to his side. "What happened?" "I stood up."
Carla looked at Maya. He got dizzy. No chest pain. No breathing trouble. He's been talking the whole time.
Carla nodded gratefully. Thank you. Maya stood. Just keep him seated before you move him. Ernest pointed at Maya.
"Bossy." "You're welcome." Carla reached into her purse. "Please." Maya saw the folded cash.
"No." "You missed your bus because of him." "I'll catch another." "At least take enough for breakfast." Maya shook her head.
"I'm okay." Carla tried again. Maya gently closed her hand around the money. "Take him home." Ernest watched her.
"You always refuse help?" Maya picked up her backpack. "Only when people need it more." He looked at her for a long moment. Then nodded.
"Your father used to say things like that." Maya stopped. The room seemed to narrow. What? Ernest looked toward the brass tag hanging from Maya's bag.
RAC 214. "I knew David." Maya stared at him. Before she could ask anything else, the wall clock caught her eye. 7:31.
She was going to be late. Again. Maya looked back at Ernest. "We'll talk later." He nodded.
"You should." Outside morning traffic had thickened. Maya ran toward the Route 417 stop and caught the bus just before the doors closed. She arrived at Crown Bridge with four minutes to spare. Her phone stayed silent through class.