Page 155 of Just One More Thing
“Yes,” I say. “That should absolutely be documented.”
Granny turns slowly toward me. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
We sit in the waiting room for less than five minutes before Granny starts making friends against everyone’s will.
Honestly, five minutes is longer than I expected.
She asks a man in a wrist brace what happened.
“Tennis elbow,” he says.
“At your age?” she says. “Ambitious.”
Thankfully, he laughs.
A teenage boy on crutches gets an unsolicited lecture about letting people sign his cast with cheap markers.
“The bad ones bleed,” Granny warns. “Then you’ve got sentiment and ugly handwriting trapped together forever.”
She stops a nurse walking by to ask if they validate parking. The nurse says no. Granny sighs heavily. “What’s the world coming to.”
She nudges my knee with the tip of her shoe. “You’re awfully quiet.”
“I’m enjoying the spectacle.”
“Liar.”
Miss Hattie pats my arm. “You are a little quiet today.”
“I’m fine.”
Granny studies me over the rim of her glasses. The look is brief but sharp enough to make my stomach tighten. As if she knows where my brain wandered and is deciding whether to challenge it in public or save it for the car.
Before she can choose, the door swings open. “Madeline?”
Granny lifts her hand in a little wave. “That’s me.”
The cast room is freezing and decorated in varying shades of beige. The kind of room designed by people who think color is a medical condition and neutral is the cure.
The tech wheels in a cast saw. Granny stares at it suspiciously. “That looks homemade.”
“It’s standard,” he says.
“Well, I want the high-standard version.”
“It won’t cut your skin.”
The saw starts buzzing loudly. “If this goes sideways,” she tells him, “I want it noted that I came in here filled with trust and optimism.”
“You came in here full of complaints about parking,” I say.
“I’m full of a lot of things.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” I mumble.
Miss Hattie starts cackling. The tech bites the inside of his cheek, trying not to laugh. Granny turns her head toward me. “Emor?—“
The cast cracks.
