Page 154 of Just One More Thing

I shake my head and grab Granny’s purse.

As I pull out of the shell lot onto Bay Street, before we’ve even passed the little white church, a thought slips in quietly. I knew this was temporary. It’s been my motto.

But I never asked myself what it would look like when she stopped needing me.

The drive into Summerlin is full of commentary, gossip, and deeply conflicting medical opinions from two women who thinkWebMD is a government conspiracy but trust whatever Jodi Lorenzen heard from her hairdresser.

And the Mayor Wilkinson scandal has escalated and now comes with details.

I grip the steering wheel tighter because if I laugh too hard, I’m going to miss the turn.

Granny starts listing everything she plans to do the second the cast comes off.

“Drive.”

“No.”

“Reorganize the back pantry.”

“You can barely reach the top shelf on a good day.”

“That’s why God made step stools, Emory.”

“No.”

“Go dancing.”

Miss Hattie, riding shotgun, twists around so fast I’m surprised she doesn’t throw out a shoulder. “With me?”

“Obviously with you. Emory has no rhythm.”

“I have rhythm.”

“You count in your head.”

“That is not true.”

Granny and Miss Hattie exchange a look.

“I saw that.”

They both burst out laughing. I laugh too because they’re not wrong.

But underneath it, something else has already started counting down. Not steps.

Days.

I don’t want to count.

I can feel the number anyway.

At the doctor’s office, Granny checks in like a celebrity trying to avoid the paparazzi. “Madeline Donovan,” she tells the receptionist. “The leg. The legend. The comeback tour.”

The receptionist looks to be in her early twenties and one bad patient away from quitting her job. “Date of birth?”

Granny gives it to her, then lowers her voice. “Put down that I’ve suffered bravely.”

Miss Hattie steps beside her. “Can you also note she’s been impossible?”