Getting by (A Knight's Tale) by Claudia Y. Burgoa Read Free Book Online Page A

spots after a week of work and delicious nights with a man who I was required to forget in order to move on, came daily—nightly. They not only hit me with vengeance, but they came tangled with what humans liked to call hope. The urge to crawl inside myself to avoid the need of his touch, kisses and whatever it was that we had not long ago, consumed me. If I had the powers to morph into an animal, it’d be a sea turtle and I’d stay inside my shell for the next hundred years. Past the stage of melancholy and into the real world, I pushed my body outside of the bed and into the shower, where I got ready to face the Clements and the house next door.
    Once I finished bathing, dressing with a pair of skinny jeans and a flouncy blouse, I blow dried my hair making it straight, flat and perfect for the barbeque party. Next, I prepared myself a cup of coffee from the old coffee maker they had in the room and grabbed a granola bar from my luggage—instant breakfast. I checked the time, still plenty to make a couple of calls before Gaby picked me up.
    “Grandma Lily,” long live voicemails, it took away the awkwardness of family meetings, “I’m in town, well Menlo Park, one town close to San Francisco. Of course you know that, I’m babbling, aren’t I. Sorry. Call me back, if you have some time this week to get together? By the way, this is Emma, your youngest granddaughter.”
    Up until I was nine, Grandma and I were close. We looked so much alike. Chloe inherited Mom’s golden hair and sapphire blue eyes, her curvy figure and petite height. Grandma Lily adored me for being more Anderson and less Lynden. Then she discovered my carefree personality or as she said, my mischievous ways. She disowned me. “She has a great imagination,” Mom defended me. “And mostly, Emma is a little girl.”
    I touched the end call button and dialed the next number. “Hi handsome,” Grampy-Lynden answered the phone. “How’s the hip?”
    “Is this my baby girl?” he asked, enthusiastic. This was a good sign, after the latest health scare. “All is well. Soon I’ll be able to dance again, sweetie. And before you ask, yes, they gave me antibiotics for the pneumonia. Now, stop worrying about me.”
    The eighty year old man believed he never aged. The old house in Connecticut needed a coat of paint, and instead of calling a professional, he did it himself.
    To save money.
     
    “Emmy, Joe is in the hospital.” Grandma Lynden’s—or as we called her, Nana—frantic voice came from the other side of the phone. “Dear, he broke his hip and they’ll be performing surgery. Can you come, sweetie?”
    Going was not a question. I made a few calls to cover my bases at work, gathered my mobile office—laptop, scanner and gadgets—and headed toward the rental car office. Within an hour I reached the city border, twenty minutes later I parked the rental car in front of the hospital where the valet parking guy handed me a ticket and helped me grab my tote and laptop bags. As I walked inside the hospital, I spotted a nurse who gave me precise instructions on where to find Nana. It seemed she left a note describing me and telling them where I could find her.
    Two hallways to my right, three floors upstairs, another hallway and I found the tiny lady covered with an old raggedy sweater; knitting while she waited for news. I hugged her tightly and the tension I held in my shoulders since her phone call diminished. My breathing, I noticed, was back to normal and everything seemed bearable. Was I made out of stone? From the time she called, until I got a hold of her, there wasn’t one emotional reaction toward the accident or health of Grampy. I had to remain strong for Nana, squeezing her hand and explaining to her that everything would be alright.
    “He’s strong, Nana, a simple broken hip won’t break him.” I put an arm around her while we sat on the hard blue chairs of the waiting room. She nodded in agreement. I caught grief in her blue