Audrey was at the hospital. She was in good health. She was actually quite bright-eyed, and her hair was beautifully windswept because the cold weather suited her complexion. Her reasons for being at the hospital didn't relate to her health at all, though—they were all about the man whose life she'd been applauded for recently saving. His name was Peter Sutton. He was a teacher. He was in his sixties, and he had keeled over at the bus stop because his heart had stopped beating. Due to her fast cell phone dialing and attempts to loosen his collar and resuscitate him, she'd kept him alive long enough for the paramedics to arrive and take over. Everything had been a blur from there. She'd been asked all sorts of questions but, at this point, she couldn't recall what they'd been or how she'd answered. It had all been a rush of noise and nerves and cold air and then, suddenly, she'd been left alone on the street. The crowd had dispersed, the ambulance had wheeled off, and all the whirls of dust and snow flurries had seemed to just settle to the ground. It was the weirdest silence Audrey had ever experienced in her life, and she'd just continued with her day, catching the bus and taking it to the train, then hopping the train home. The entire way, she'd been unable to get her thoughts off of what had just happened. She'd expected to feel crazy with worry or exhilarated or something—like it had all been a scene from a movie—but all she'd really felt was a little bitter for not having been interviewed by some newscaster. And she'd admonished herself for being so egocentric. How could she be thinking of personal rewards when a man had almost died?

Still . . . human nature caused her to expect and want gratitude. It had come, too, although it had been late. A few days after the whole incident, a reporter had shown up at her and her father's apartment with a small film crew. Apparently, channel five did a weekly local hero installment, and she'd been chosen and tracked down to be this week's hero. It had all been quick, but they'd asked her a few questions, and she'd been on the news—it was quite exciting. Her father had hardly known what to say, because he'd only partially been informed of what had happened in the first place (Audrey and her father didn't talk much on a personal level, as he was often working and she was usually sleeping by the time he got home). Mr. King had paced the kitchen while his daughter had been interviewed in the living room; he was so excited for her that he hadn't known what to do with himself. Audrey knew that her father became overexcited when she was the center of attention. There had been that one time in elementary school where she'd won a spelling bee, and he had just cheered her name for about ten minutes. And then last summer, when she'd won a minor art contest at her private school (which, of course, spoke right to his heart), he'd had a reception for her at his own gallery, and the whole while he'd seemed about as nervous as a sinner in church. On this occasion, Mr. King seemed happy to let his daughter do all the talking on television. While he was excited, he had no desire to be on the news, and she'd been happy enough to take the limelight for herself. It wasn't that she was arrogant; she had just never been paid much attention, and to all of a sudden have people interested in her was a thrilling, novice phenomenon.

Until the news crew had shown up and interviewed her, Audrey hadn't even known the name of the man whose life she'd saved. But the news anchor had given her the man's name and in-patient information, apparently at his request, and the girl had decided to pay him a visit. Her decision was due partially to the fact that the newswoman had asked her on film if she'd intended to check up on him and she'd replied in the affirmative, hardly knowing what she was saying in the excitement of the moment. She also had been curious as to the man's health, anyhow, and it was clear that Mr. Sutton had asked for her to visit, so she'd be welcome.

That was why she was here now. She'd taken the bus out after school. It had been a good half hour drive, and she'd tried to do some homework along the way; her distraction level had been too high, though. A lot of thoughts kept her mind from focusing on any sort of reading or math. Would the man be grateful? Would he be nice, or grumpy, or . . . creepy? She hated to wonder if he'd be a creep, but one could never be too careful, these days. Sure, he'd been an older man, but older men had their bizarre issues, just like younger ones did. For all Audrey knew, the guy could be a pedophile who'd heard she was a young girl and decided he needed to see her—no. That was ridiculous. She'd scolded herself for that thought, too. It seemed that lately, she'd been unable to really keep her mind from wandering. She needed to get that thing in check.

It was warm in the hospital. She was moving up in an elevator and was dressed in a thick winter coat with all the accoutrements. She was actually beginning to sweat—could the other three people in the elevator tell? No. Of course they couldn't. Nevertheless, Audrey removed her gloves, scarf, and hat and stuffed them into her shoulder bag. She hated to admit that her sudden sweat was more from nerves than from an actual increase in temperature, but that was most likely the case. She pulled a hairband off her wrist and tied back her long blonde hair into a messy ponytail. Then she took a deep breath. Too deep, evidently—the man and younger nurse in the elevator turned discreetly to take note of her. She stared at the floor and clasped her hands at waist level.

The fifth floor seemed to take forever to reach, and Audrey was happy to leave the elevator. She'd felt somewhat claustrophobic inside. She wasn't someone with any phobias—that she knew of—so to suddenly feel a bit panicked because of an enclosed space was a bit nerve-wracking. It was because she was anxious, she admitted to herself.

Audrey made her way to the nearest information center and asked for directions to Mr. Sutton's room. She felt her heart fluttering and a sudden pain in her chest; was she having a panic attack? And, if so, why? Why on earth was she so nervous about this encounter? She had saved the man's life, not threatened it, so he would most likely be thrilled to see her. She thought that she'd want praise—a little recognition—but now she suddenly felt guilty, as if she was undeserving of thanks; she'd only done what anybody else would do. It wasn't as if she'd acted differently than some other passerby might have. She'd just happened to be the only other person at that bus stop, and it was luck that she'd been able to help the man out. In truth, Audrey hadn't known what to do in the moments after she'd seen Mr. Sutton on the ground. She'd just been lucky that he had been able to hang on until the ambulance arrived. But he might have done that anyway, without any assistance from her at all. In all probability, Audrey hadn't done anything worthwhile besides calling the medical crew; Mr. Sutton would likely have lived on his own.

Or maybe not . . .

When Audrey entered the man's hospital room, the first thing she noticed was all the equipment in it. Mr. Sutton had a breathing tube in and all sorts of things attached to him. The sight startled Audrey to the point where she nearly turned around and left, but then the old man on the bed shifted and caught sight of her, and a smile crinkled across his face. Immediately, Audrey's heart melted.

This had to be the kindest looking old man she'd ever seen. He was balding across the top but had gray and black fuzz on the sides of his head. His ears were kind of big, and so was his nose, but his smile made up for their size. He was absolutely ordinary-looking, for an old man, and yet there was some inherent kindness about him that Audrey couldn't help but immediately sense. She also picked up on something else . . . a quality of sadness. Mr. Sutton's smile contained the faint traces of a life without many connections. Audrey's perception was validated by the lack of cards and flowers in the room. Not a single get-well gift adorned the window sill or surfaces; there was nothing to alleviate the stark bareness of the place, and this gave the girl's heart a dull ache.

While she was quietly taking in her surroundings, Mr. Sutton, having spied her, addressed her. "You must be the girl who saved my life," he said calmly, a croak evident in his voice.

Audrey became timid. "How could you tell?" She felt very awkward, all of a sudden, like she didn't know what to do with her body, like her hands should be doing something or she should be seating herself . . . but she didn't know if taking a chair would be presumptuous.

"You're my only visitor since I've been here, and the only person I said I'd like to see."

She didn't know if she should feel flattered or even more heartbroken for him; however, feeling empathetic enough for tears to begin forming in her eyes, she decided to take the man's comment as flattery and just appreciate it at face value.

He motioned a little weakly to a chair nearby his bed. "Come on, have a seat," he said, turning to look at the ceiling. "I just want to talk to you a bit."

Comfort flowed through Audrey. Her muscles, which had tensed at some point she couldn't quite recall, relaxed, and she easily made her way to the chair and sat down. Mr. Sutton placed his arms across his stomach. He was propped up by some pillows and looked overall well, although he clearly had had quite a heart attack, since he'd been here a few days and was still on bed-rest. Audrey didn't feel the need to say much. She didn't feel like she had to fill the silence with comments or questions. This man had asked her to visit, and he was the one who was going to talk to her. She didn't have to be the one with all the questions and answers. Unlike some people, Mr. Sutton was someone she was at ease with pretty quickly. He wasn't judging her, she could tell.

"First thing I want to do is thank you, young lady, for saving my life. No, no—don't bother acting like it was nothing. I owe you my existence, at this point."

Audrey really wanted to say that she'd only done what anyone else would have done, that even if she hadn't been there, someone else would've stepped up and taken care of him, but she refrained because Mr. Sutton seemed ready to quiet her if she tried to deny the importance of her role in the ordeal.

"I haven't had much of a life, and it took this for me to realize that," he went on, much to Audrey's amazement. "I mostly wanted you to come here so I . . . so I could thank you, for giving me a second chance."

Audrey didn't know what to say. Mr. Sutton's words had sounded like something from a movie. People didn't go around thanking one another for second chances at life—that was dramatic—and yet, the man had done just that. She didn't feel anything but shock about it. She didn't feel unworthy of the thanks or tremendously proud of it. It was as if the words had sort of gone in one ear and out the other. Somehow, though, she finally knew how to respond. "Listen, Mr. Sutton. My mind sort of reacted on instinct when I saw you. I can't say I don't deserve your appreciation, but I also don't think that you need to try and inflate my pride. I really just . . . well, I don't think what I did was that great, and I'm happy to meet you. But if you want me to stay, then you can't keep flattering me, because it will totally go to my head." She flashed a dazzling smile at him without knowing she was doing so.

He returned the smile. The man was so proud to have her there, the loveliest visitor he'd had (which wasn't saying much, seeing as he hadn't had any visitors besides her). He laughed, coughed, then caught control of it and said, "You're a young lady who can articulate herself. Tell me what your life is like. I'm curious to know about this girl that saved my li—I mean, this girl that helped me out."

Audrey smiled and nodded her head sharply. "Well," she began, absolute comfort overcoming her, "I live with my dad. I'm in high school, and I can't wait to get out of it and just move on with my life. I think I want to go into architecture, or maybe interior design, although I really like thinking about the parts that build things more than what goes inside the building. I've started thinking about college and all that, and it's really frustrating not knowing where my life is going to be a year from now. I hate waiting for things to happen. It's like I'm just sitting watching my life hang in the air and there's absolutely nothing I can do about it." As she went on, sparing few details, she began to feel as though she'd known this man her whole life. There was some welcoming quality in him. Something that cried out to be spoken to and treated as if it was a human being. Audrey wondered if there were many people like this—people who were forgotten, who lived their lives without connections to others, who wilted like little flowers without water and sunlight until one day the company of another human being soaked their thirsty roots and warmed their dried leaves. Audrey herself was like this . . . she was a withering flower; she spoke sincerely to no one; she rarely interacted with others; she wanted so much to be reached out to . . . to have someone—anyone—know she was there. To have some other human being validate her existence. Maybe that was why, without knowing it, she was letting go of her inhibition and just talking—plain, straight talking—to Mr. Sutton. He was someone who wanted to listen to her. He was interested in what she had to say. And even though as she was sitting there she was thinking about how much he probably needed her, she knew, some deep inside part of her knew she needed him just as much.