As we read, my gaze drifts to her foot. The cast is gone, replaced by a lightweight neoprene ankle brace. She’s far more comfortable, but onething she didn’t anticipate—or refused to think about—was that she would still need crutches for a while longer.
Which has delayed everything.
“It’ll be snowing by the time I can walk properly,” she lamented the other day.
“You should ask for a refund on the surgery,” Ellenor had replied lazily, only for Lily to point out that travel insurance had covered it.
For once, I knew enough aboutHarry Potterto spin it in their favour. “Look at the bright side—if you delay even longer, you might just spend Christmas at Hogwarts.”
A comment that seemed to have cheered both sisters up, except…
“That’s too long. My visa runs out before Christmas,” Lily pointed out.
That time I stayed silent. There are ways to extend a visa—and I have one in mind.
I finish my elderflower cordial, letting the sweetness pull me back to the present—to sunlight, and Lily, and this gentle afternoon that feels borrowed from another life entirely.
Catherine comes and calls us to dinner.
“One more chapter?” Lily pleads, though I’m not sure it’s the book that holds her interest. “You don’t mind, do you, Brandon? I want you to meet the Colonel.”
“I’ll like him, will I?”
“I think so. He’s my favourite character.”
“Hmm.” I smile and, without standing, drag her chair closer to mine for no other purpose than to be able to hold her hand.
With our fingers interlaced, I flip open the book with my free hand and begin to read with renewed concentration—curious to discover her favourite character.
And determined to not be jealous.
48
Miracles
Lily-Anne
I can finally ditch the crutches, though I’ll continue wearing the ankle brace for a while longer. Ellenor’s been taking me to the physio, and Mum’s tagged along to be supportive. She quit her nursing job to stay by my side, and I know she’s dipping into the savings Dad left behind to manage it. I hate that she has to, even as I’m grateful beyond words that she’s here.
I didn’t think my ankle would be so stiff, or that I’d still wobble when I tried to walk.
It takes a few more weeks, but I’m slowly getting there. Thank goodness for my music. It’s kept me sane throughout all of this. I just wish I had my guitar.
I’m anxious to have it back.
The phone rings while I’m making tea. I snatch it up before the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Lily-Anne? It’s Ed, the luthier,” he says. “I’ve had a closer look at your guitar.”
My heart lifts. “Is it fixable?”
“Yes, but the damage is extensive. It’s a tricky repair. Not cheap.”
“How much?”
He tells me. The number punches the breath out of me, and that’s before I convert it to dollars. Thousands. I expected a few hundred, perhaps one thousand, but the quote for the repairs will cost more than a new guitar.
