Something churns in my gut. I’m torn between a yearning to go after Cinderella and an awareness that the smart thing to do is let her go.
“What are you waiting for?” Ned asks.
I glance around the circle. Everyone is grinning and offering their encouragement. Del’s eyes have welled with tears. Classic, Del. The man feels his feelings. I admire that about him.
“You’re right.” I pull in a grounding breath and act against my better judgement. Though right now, this choice feels inevitable. “I’m going.”
I break away from the circle, and I’m halfway to the exit when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I have it set to sleep mode, so the only notifications that can get through are from numbers I’ve assigned as favorites. That means it’s one of my grandparents. They never text this late.
My pulse hammers as I grab for my phone, and I swear my heart stops beating when I read the message from my grandpa.
Pa
Gram fell. I need your help.
Chapter 9
TJ
Iget to the senior living neighborhood that Gram and Pa live in in less than fifteen minutes. I didn’t run into any cops on my way, which is good, because I was driving well over the speed limit. I tried to call my grandpa, but he didn’t pick up. I debated calling an ambulance, but I have no information other than the text message, and I could get to them faster than the EMTs anyway.
I slam on the brakes, skidding my truck into a parking stall outside their place. I leave the keys in the ignition and sprint toward the door, bursting inside while my heart threatens to burst out of my chest. “Gram? Pa? Where are you?”
There’s a grunting sound and then, “Back here, Son!”
The unit is tiny, a simple living room on the front that joins an area where a small dining table seats four. Beyond that is the kitchen, and off to the back is a hallway leading to the bathroom and the only bedroom.
I sprint in that direction, bracing for the worst—my grandma unconscious or in terrible pain with a broken hip or a snapped femur. Something gruesome and awful.
I pause in the doorway to their bedroom as hysterical laughter reaches my ear. I blink a couple times at the sight before me.
My grandfather is on his knees, reaching over the edge of the far side of the bed. My grandma is nowhere to be seen, but then a leg flies up and tries to hook itself onto the mattress.
“You need to try, honey,” Pa scolds with a huff.
More laughter from my grandma, who I now realize is wedged between the bed and the wall. “I am trying, but I’m stuck!”
My grandpa yanks, and my grandma hoots from her position on the floor.
“I don’t want to pull your arm out of its socket.” Pa looks over his shoulder, and I get my first look at his face. It’s beet red, and he’s wearing a wry smile. He turns back to my grandma. “TJ is here. He’ll be able to help.”
“Oh dear, this is embarrassing.” My grandma bursts into giggles.
“You okay, Gram?” I ask, slowly walking to the foot of the bed and peering around the side. Sure enough, my grandma is on her back, her hips jammed between the boxspring and the wall. She’s got one foot on the bed and the other pressed against the floor, trying to give herself some leverage.
“I’m as good as a person can be in this situation.” She starts giggling again. “Look, Martin. I’m being rescued by Zorro himself.”
I shake my head and take off the mask I realize I’m still wearing. I toss it onto the bed. My mind flits to Cinderella and the mask she wore all night. Now that I know my grandparents aren’t having any kind of legitimate emergency, my heart thrums with regret. I have no clue who she is. Never will. But there’s no use dwelling on that now. It’s for the best anyway. That’s what I tell myself as I fake a scowl at my grandma.
“Very funny, Gram. Do you want a hand up and out of there?”
“That would be good, dear. I’ve really gotten myself into a pickle.”
“Do I even want to know how this happened?” I scoot between the bed and the wall and get my arms under my grandma’s back so I can lift her upright.
“Nothing saucy was happening, if that’s what you mean,” Pa says. Does he sound disappointed? I’m going to try not to think about that.
“That’s not to say nothing saucy never happens, though,” Gram adds when I get her back up and onto the bed. She brushes her flannel pajamas.
