IT’S ALL IN THE HEART

An emergency vehicle pulled up beside me, lights flashing, casting blood red shadows on the wall like a gruesome spotlight.

A young paramedic team jumped out, pulling a stretcher and medical kit from the van.

“Did you make the call?” one of them yelled out to me.

“Yes,” I replied, my trembling hand pointing at the entry door of a rustic Sydney café. “In there…”

I watched them race through the door, my feet glued to the pavement. I didn’t want to go back inside until the chaos was gone. I figured I’d done my civic duty and the paramedics already had enough spectators to deal with inside the tiny eatery.

I sat on the kerb and waited, calming my breath as I replayed the scene in my head. The 50-something man had clutched his chest and staggered towards the counter, bringing down a fresh display of muffins and stack of menus as he fell crashing to the wooden floor in what could only be described as text book heart failure. It was like watching a scene from a movie and I almost expected a film crew to jump out from the shadows and yell ‘cut’.

The paramedics reappeared and wheeled the stretchered man to the ambulance.

“You probably saved his life,” one of them said to me with a thumbs up.

I smiled back and fist pumped the air. “Fresh out of a first aid course!” I explained, grateful that I’d taken up my company’s learning opportunity to save a life.

They drove away with the sirens off and lights flashing less dramatically. I stood up, breathed a sigh of relief and wandered back in to the café. It was nearly empty. Patrons had scattered, leaving plates half-eaten and coffees untouched in their rush to flee the distressing event they’d witnessed. Nothing like a heart attack to kill appetites.

I sat down at the same table I’d been occupying and pushed away the cold cup of coffee.

“A hero deserves a treat,” the café manager said, placing a warm muffin and fresh latte in front of me.

“Thank you,” I replied, as my gaze suddenly caught sight of a small black notebook. It sat resting on a seat under a tucked away corner table. It looked lost, abandoned even.

It must belong to one of the run-away customers, I thought. It was old. But great care had been taken to maintain its beautiful integrity and the aged black leather captivated my eye. It was almost begging me to look inside of it.

I casually stood up and transported my coffee and muffin to the corner table. I felt a wave of guilt wash over me, like I was a shoplifter about to embark on a stealing spree. But really, who could blame me for relocating to another table after what had just happened.

I picked it up and opened to the first page.

In Case of Loss, Please Return To:

Edo Milano

111 Endeavour Drive, Sydney, Australia

As a reward:

$20,000

I swallowed a gasp and nearly dropped the notebook. Twenty thousand dollars! Who offers that kind of money for a little black book? Surely it was a joke. People only offered that kind of money for the return of an insanely beloved pet or information leading to the capture of a wanted criminal.

A cynical laugh escaped my lips. “It’s a joke,” I murmured to myself.

Edo Milano. The name sounded vaguely familiar. I started flipping through the book in a desperate bid to find out what was so important about it. Was it an unpublished masterpiece? A secret formula to cure the incurable diseases of the world? Endless lines of coding that would build the next great social media platform? It had to be something big. Some kind of excellence scrawled on the ivory pages that would compel a person to offer such an impressive prize.

But it was blank. The notebook contained nothing. Nothing but faded old lines that had never felt a touch of ink upon them. I kept flipping through it, faster and faster, certain I would eventually come across a page containing some kind of data. Or story. Or sketch. Anything.

Nothing.

I sighed, my heart sinking in my chest. The dreamer in me had already started spending the money, imagining how far I could stretch twenty thousand dollars. An updated wardrobe, a year of car payments, a luxury escape to a resort Island.

The shrill ring of the café phone invaded my runaway thoughts and I watched as the café manager picked it up. “I don’t think so,” I heard him say. “Just a second, I’ll take a look.”

The manager started scanning the room, clearly searching for something. I slowly slid the notebook under the table and concealed it beneath my shirt.

“Have you seen a little black book lying around?” he called out to me.

I shook my head. “No, nothing over here,” I replied with a casual shrug.

The waiter returned to the phone and exchanged a few words before hanging up. His eyes did another quick sweep of the room before he resumed cleaning the counter.

My heart was hammering inside my chest. Someone was looking for the book. And if someone was looking for the book then the reward might actually be legitimate. And if that was the case, there was no way I was returning it to the café manager.

I fished through my bag for my phone, scrolled to the Uber App and punched in 111 Endeavour Drive. Only a 23 ride away from my current location. I had no idea why someone would be so determined to reclaim a blank notebook. But it didn’t matter. The only thing on my mind as I dashed out of the café was the catalogue of books and menu of poolside cocktails I’d be enjoying on my tropical getaway.

***

Doubts crept into my mind as the Uber approached my destination. What if I was walking into some kind of sinister trap? Or returning a notebook to a fraudulent cyber-criminal? I held the little black book up and shone my phone torchlight onto its pages, looking for tell-tale signs of invisible ink. Ordinarily, I would never take such a mindless risk. But then again, this had been anything but an ordinary evening and I was still riding high on the adrenaline of saving a life less than an hour ago.

Standing out on the street, I stared down the long driveway that led to an upmarket double-storey home.

“You’ve come this far,” I said out loud to myself. “It’ll be fine.”

Suddenly a car came peeling down the driveway, its headlights blinding me. It screeched to a halt in front of me and a woman thrust her head out of the window, hysterical.

“Get out of the way!” she screamed, crying. “My husband’s had a heart attack. I need to get to the hospital.”

My voice was barely a whisper. “What?”

“My husband!” she repeated frantically. “He had a heart attack. In a café. I need to get to him.”

My resourcefulness trumped the shock I was in. “Move over,” I said, opening the driver door. “You can’t drive like this.”

She looked at the little black book in my hand. “Where did you get that?” she asked, her face clouding over in fear. “That’s my husband’s notebook. The nurse at the hospital told me he’s asking for it.”

We stared at each other, equally confused. “I was there…” I started slowly. “At the café. I think I gave your husband CPR tonight. And I found this notebook. It’s blank, there’s nothing in it. So I don’t think it’s important but I’m just returning it because…”

“Not important!” she blurted out, interrupting my rambling. “That’s the very first notebook my husband ever made. It might be blank but it represents his passion and an entire stationery company he built from the ground up. He takes it with him everywhere.”

No wonder the name had rung a familiar bell. Edo Milano. Founder of one of the most successful stationery companies on the planet.

“Let’s get you to the hospital,” I said, jumping behind the wheel. “Your husband will be waiting for you. And his little black book. “

“Thank you,” she said, looking at me earnestly “You’ll be rewarded for this.”

I shook my head. It didn’t feel right to take advantage of the evening’s misfortune. “I don’t want the $20,000.”

“Oh, my dear,” she said, smiling at me. “You don’t need $20,000. After tonight, you’re part of the family.”