Chapter 37
“El pegamento.” Abigail nodded toward the glue in the center of the table. It wasn’t a word she’d practiced before they’d come, but she’d picked it up quickly helping with vacation Bible school all week.
How could it already be the last day? The week had been exhausting but wonderful, and she had no idea what she’d do without these little people in her life once she and Simeon returned home.
A wave of giggles went through the children, and Abigail lifted her head to see what was going on.
Mariana pointed over Abigail’s shoulder. She followed the girl’s finger to discover that Simeon had taken some of the googly eyes they were using to make puppets and stuck them on his eyelids.
“Simeon.” But her reprimand came out as more of a laugh. She’d seen such a light side of him this week, and it had only fueled her growing feelings for him. That déjà vu sensation she’d been experiencing more frequently all week hit her hard in the chest.
“Qué?” Simeon asked, raising his hands to his sides innocently. “No te gustan mis ojos?” He shook his head in a circle, making the googly eyes go wild.
“Oh no. Me gustan mucho.” Abigail reached for a pair of googly eyes, pressing them against her own lids. “Te gustan mis ojos?”
There was no answer for a moment, and Abigail started to pull the googly eyes off but then a pair of hands stopped her. “Sí.” Simeon’s voice was soft. “Y tus labios.” His lips pressed to hers.
“Oooo,” the children shrieked.
Abigail pulled back, pretty sure her face was redder than the crayon Mariana was holding, but she couldn’t help laughing.
“Okay, todos,” Pastor Mateo called. “Ha llegado el momento de la gran final.”
“It’s time for the grand finale?” Abigail ran her translation past Simeon.
He nodded. “Muy bien.”
“Thanks. What grand finale?” She didn’t remember planning that.
Simeon grinned and took her hand. “Come on. You’ll see.”
Mariana grabbed her other hand, and together they led her out to the small lot behind the church.
In the center of the space were two big bins, filled with what looked like large, colorful eggs.
Abigail squinted at them. “Are those water balloons?” She glanced at the sky. Though it was sunny and probably in the low sixties, it wasn’t exactly what she’d call water balloon weather.
“Better.” Simeon smirked. “Shaving cream balloons.”
“What are—”
But before she could finish the question, Pastor Mateo’s booming voice rang over the group in rapid Spanish. From what Abigail gathered between her own pitiful translation and Simeon’s explanation, he was giving the rules of some game. But what game and what those rules meant still wasn’t clear to her by the time he stopped talking.
Apparently, the children had all gotten it though, because they took off for the bins of balloons.
“Come on.” Simeon grabbed her arm and pulled her along with the children. “We’re on the blue team.”
Before she could ask what that meant, a balloon hit her side and burst, covering her in shaving cream.
Simeon chortled. “Come on.” He kept pulling until they reached a bin of blue balloons. He handed one to her. She still didn’t know what she was supposed to do with it. But she did know what she wanted to do with it.
She took a dozen steps backwards, then called, “Simeon.”
He looked up from loading his arms with balloons.
Without hesitation, Abigail lobbed her balloon at him.
Simeon’s eyes went bigger than the balloons in his arms as it arced through the air toward him. He stepped to the side at the last second, and the balloon grazed off his shoulder, not breaking.
“Ha!” he crowed. “Nice try.”
Abigail eyed the balloons still clutched in his arms. With a grin, she started jogging toward him. He watched her, a smile playing on his lips.
She kept running, judging the distance. Five yards to go. Four. Three. Two.
“Abigail, what—”
She ran right into him, shrieking as several balloons popped between them. Sticky shaving cream coated the front of her shirt and dripped onto her legs, but it was totally worth it to see Simeon’s incredulous expression—and to hear his rich, warm, carefree laugh.
“We’re supposed to be on the same team.” But the words came around his laughs, and he scooped a blob of shaving cream off his shirt, plopping it onto her nose.
“Hey!” But she couldn’t stop laughing. Impulsively, she leaned forward to kiss him, then tilted her head to transfer the shaving cream to his cheek.
“We should probably—” A hailstorm of shaving cream balloons pelted them from all sides, and Abigail turned to find they’d been surrounded by laughing children, all tossing balloons at them.
Her heart filled fuller than the biggest balloon.
She couldn’t imagine a more perfect moment.
Thank you, Lord, for bringing me here. She hadn’t planned on praying, but the words just came, and she thought of Pastor Mateo’s sermon from last Sunday. She couldn’t remember the exact verse he’d preached on, but she did remember that it had been about being rooted in Christ and overflowing with thankfulness.
That was exactly how she felt right now—like she was overflowing with thankfulness.
The children ran out of balloons fairly quickly, and everyone was still laughing as they worked together to clean up. Then Pastor Mateo called them all together for a closing prayer.
Abigail closed her eyes and tucked her hand into Simeon’s as Mateo began. “Gracias, Dios, por todo lo que nos has ense?ado esta semana.”
“Thank you, God, for everything you have taught us this week.” Simeon whispered the translation to her.
Abigail nodded. She had understood most of that.
“Gracias por nuevos amig—” There was a pause and then a thud and several screams.
Abigail’s eyes jumped open.
Pastor Mateo no longer stood in front of the group, and Abigail’s gaze followed the scramble of children to where Pastor Mateo lay slumped on the ground.
Before she could process what she was doing, Abigail was dodging through the children to get to Mateo. She dropped to her knees at his side. “Help me roll him over,” she said to Simeon, who had followed her.
“Are you sure we should move him?” he asked.
“Yes.” Abigail couldn’t have said why she was certain—but she was.
Simeon’s face settled into a grim look, but he gripped Mateo’s shoulder and rolled him onto his back.
“Pastor Mateo, can you hear me?” Abigail pressed two fingers to the older man’s wrist, watching his chest for signs that he was breathing. There was nothing.
“Call 911.” She barked the words as she centered her hands on Pastor Mateo’s chest and began compressions. “And get the AED.” Pastor Mateo had been so proud when he’d pointed it out earlier this week. He’d purchased it with a grant, and the church was one of the few places in the city that had one.
Simeon scrambled to his feet. “Is it a heart attack?”
“I think it’s sudden cardiac arrest.”
Simeon blinked at her. “How do you—”
“Go,” she shouted. There was so little time.
With one more look at her hands compressing Pastor Mateo’s chest, Simeon turned and sprinted toward the church.
“I’ve got emergency services on the line.” Linda spoke calmly and crouched on the other side of Pastor Mateo to take his hand.
Abigail kept compressing, vaguely registering that next to her, Linda was whispering, the word Dios standing out from the others Abigail couldn’t translate. The woman must be praying.
Please help him.Abigail prayed too. Help me know what to do.
Simeon skidded back to their side, holding out the defibrillator.
“Open it and turn it on,” Abigail instructed.
Simeon did what she asked, and voice prompts from the machine instructed them to prepare the pads. As Simeon did that, Abigail pulled up Pastor Mateo’s shirt.
She took the pads from Simeon and placed them on Pastor Mateo’s chest, where the diagram on the machine showed to put them.
“Are you sure that’s right?” Simeon asked.
Abigail nodded. For some reason, she was sure.
“Stay clear,” she said, just as the machine said the same thing.
“Press the shock button,” the robotic AED voice said.
“Clear,” Abigail said again, making sure no one was near enough to touch Pastor Mateo. Then she pressed the shock button.
She kept her eyes on Pastor Mateo even as emergency workers descended on the yard. One dropped to the ground next to her.
“Le diste una descarga?” he asked.
Abigail stared at him. She hadn’t understood a single one of those words.
“Yes,” Simeon said from behind her. “You shocked him.”
“Oh. Yes.”
The paramedic reached for Pastor Mateo’s wrist. “It worked? Fue efectivo?”
“I don’t know,” Abigail whispered, her eyes trained on Pastor Mateo’s pale face.
“Tiene pulso,” the EMT said after what felt like half a lifetime.
“He has a pulse,” Simeon translated.
Abigail sagged backwards into her husband’s solid legs.
“Bien.” The EMT grabbed his bag and pulled out a clear plastic mask, fitting it over Pastor Mateo’s nose and mouth. “Cuidaremos de él.”
“Come on, they’re going to take care of him.” Simeon pulled her to her feet. Her legs shook as she tried to walk, but he wrapped an arm firmly around her back and led her to a bench near the church door. “Man alive, Abigail.” He kissed the top of her head. “You were amazing. How did you do all of that?”
She could only shake her head and watch the paramedics working on Pastor Mateo.
Within a short time, they had him loaded on a stretcher and were wheeling him out of the yard.
Simeon got up and strode to Linda. “You go with him. We’ll stay until all the children are picked up and then meet you there with Mariana.” He looked to Abigail as if to make sure that was okay with her, and she nodded.
Mariana climbed into her lap, and Abigail wrapped her arms around the tearful girl. Abigail smoothed the girl’s hair and tried to figure out what she’d just done.