This novella is written in dual first person points of view. Each chapter will be labeled as to who is narrating.

So far, Jameson Petry has become friends with Iris, a seventy something woman who is dying of heart disease. They have shared their lives and problems with each other. She encourages him to start writing again and has had her lawyer change her will, making him the sole beneficiary. Jameson has no idea. He realizes she may not make it much longer and he is determined to learn as much about her as possible.

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IRIS

Jameson let me ramble for a good part of the afternoon. He's a good listener, teasing me and calling me Rambo when I told him about the time I punched one of the Davis twins right in the nose. But I had no choice. He was picking on my baby brother. If you have siblings, then you know you protect them. You are the only one allowed to bully them.

It was a good afternoon. I showed him the entire house. Jokingly, he pointed to the small study that Lou used as a home office, and said it would make a wonderful place to write in. He was fascinated with Lou's old manual typewriter. I insisted he take it, but he wouldn't. This is how I know he's of pure heart. He wants nothing from me.

I put the photo albums back on the shelf. I feel it happening. My chest tightens, only small shallow breaths allowed.

I fumble for my phone, pressing the number for emergency services. While the operator takes my information, the paramedics, police and fire department all show up.

"All this for a little trouble breathing," I try to joke as a nice young man leads me to the couch.

"We only do this for certain people," he says, smiling like a young Paul Newman. He checks my pulse, listens to my heart. "Any history of heart issues?"

"I'm in the final stages of congestive heart failure."

The young Paul Newman looks over at the other paramedic. "We'd like to take you for a ride. Maybe we should have a doc look you over."

"I have a DNR on file. It would be a wasted trip."

He nods slowly. "Okay, well then, we are more than happy to hang around until this passes. Are you up for a party?" He winks.

"Thank you."

I offer to fix them coffee, but they make me sit. Instead, we talk. Small talk can be a wonderful thing. It passes the time, you can learn a great deal about people. For instance, Paul is getting married in October. His partner has twins who are starting their senior year.

They are funny and attentive. I'm thankful I'm not alone. Without warning, my heart starts with a crazy beat.

Paul leans forward, steadying me so I don't fall off the couch. "Mrs. Taylor, what's happening now? Do you feel like you're getting light headed or like you're about to pass out?"

My hand flutters to my chest. Maybe if I press my hand to my chest, it'll stop beating uncontrollably. I want to assure him this will pass. It always passes. But I can't form a sentence.

Gently they lay me back on the couch. "Stay calm, Mrs. Taylor. We're right here. We're gonna take good care of you."

Paul turns to see his partner hurrying towards me, a portable defibrillator in his hands. He shakes his head. "Put it back. She's a DNR. Go get the stretcher."

I don't hear much of what they're saying. The sound of my blood pumping fills my ears, roaring like the ocean waves. Paul squeezes my hand, " Is there anyone we can call for you?"

I open my mouth but I can't speak. It's breathy sounds coming from my throat. "Jameson."

Paul looks to see if his partner can understand. "We're going to get you to the hospital right now. You hold on to my hand, alright?"

I try to, I truly try to hold onto his warm hand but my fingers loosen, my hand sliding to land at my side.

I close my eyes as they shut the ambulance doors. The siren sounds like it's miles away. It had been so loud, shrill the day they took Daniel away. I wonder if he heard them ...