Page 8 of Gravity of Love
“Hi, we’re here to see Arthur Santino. He was brought in with a gunshot wound.” Frankie used her most polite, I-am-definitely-not-hiding-illicit-drugs-or-weapons voice. Next to her, Yaya clutched the handle of her purse to her chest with white-knuckled tenacity.
The nurse checked the computer, then raised a single eyebrow at Frankie. “And you are?”
“Family,” Yaya blurted, her voice hoarse but decisive. “This is Arthur’s only granddaughter.” She reached over and clamped Frankie’s arm, as if to physically bind them together in her fictional tale.
Frankie hadneverheard her grandma lie. The closest thing she’d witnessed was asking the pastor to come over to fix things that were only borderline broken out of loneliness. But this, this was a flat-out, bald-faced untruth. She watched the nurse process this, skepticism flickering in her highly discerning gaze. Their only hope was that hospital protocol was built on plausible deniability rather than strict genealogy.
After several seconds of breath-holding and finger-crossing suspense, the nurse slid a sign-in sheet across the counter and handed Frankie two visitor badges. “Through the double doors. He’s in trauma bay nine.”
Yaya didn’t even wait for Frankie to thank the woman or to get her pass. The second she heard where Mr. Santino was, her feet were moving. She arrived at the doors before the nurse had even buzzed them in, and her first attempt to enter was denied. Frankie hurried to join her, badges in hand. The second the buzz sounded, Yaya pushed the silver bar again, this time bothdoors automatically opened, and they were in. They’d breached the emergency room under false pretenses. Frankie wondered if lying counted as violating HIPAA.
Yaya was shuffling faster than Frankie had ever seen her grandma move. She was barely able to keep up with her. Her stride appeared driven by dread and the ancient survival instincts that had helped her ancestors survive plagues and invasions, as she glanced around frantically until her eyes landed on the man they’d come to see, at which point she stopped.
“Arthur!” Yaya stood in the doorway of the room.
Frankie paused and took in the scene.
Caleb “Hot Pastor” Harrison, who had gone viral for a tweet comparing him to “Hot Priest” from the showFleabagand “Hot Rabbi” fromNobody Wants Thisbefore he reunited with Taylor, who was now his wife, sat beside her. She occupied the other bed in the trauma bay. It was her ex who had shown up and tried to abduct her.
Owen, their son, stood next to his mom. Another woman who Frankie met at a book club she’d gone to a couple weeks before named Adriana was also there with her son Jonah, who looked to be about the same age as Owen.
“You were shot!” Yaya ran to Mr. Santino’s bedside.
Frankie glanced over at Adriana and Taylor, silently asking if they knew exactly how involved her grandma and Mr. Santino were. It was clear by their shrugs that they were as much in the dark as she was.
“Okayyyy.” Adriana clapped her hands together. “Well, I’m gonna get these two out of here. Let me know if you guys need anything.”
"Thanks.” Caleb stood and grabbed Owen’s backpack.
“Bye, Mom.” Owen leaned over and gave his mom a hug. “Love you.”
Caleb handed Owen his backpack and gave him some cash. “Grab some candy and soda for the ride home in case you get low. And I’ll call you when we know what’s going on here.”
Yaya had told her that Owen had some serious medical issues, diabetes being one. She watched as Owen hugged his dad, and her chest tightened. She wanted to have kids so badly, to have a family. Adriana and the boys said goodbye and headed out of the room. Frankie moved out of the doorway to let them go by, and as she did, her phone vibrated.
She pulled it out hoping and praying it was Zee, only to be disappointed that it was another text from Tristan.
Tristan:Can we talk? Please?
Over the past few weeks, her ex had been confused as to why she hadn’t told her mom about their breakup. He also wanted to know where she was since she’d packed up and left without so much as a goodbye. The mature thing to do was to have a conversation with him, and she would. But not right now. She didn’t have to do it on his time. Not after what he’d done to her.
“Knock, knock.”
Frankie looked up and saw a pretty brunette in canary yellow scrubs with her hair in a ponytail and a wide smile. There was something so familiar about her, like she was an old friend. Something in her eyes. Or maybe it was her smile… Frankie was fairly certain she’d never met her before, so why did she feel like sheknewher?
“Hi, Mr. Santino, I’m Poppy, and I need to take you for some more pictures.”
Frankie glanced over at Mr. Santino, whose face looked like he’d just sucked on a sour lemon. “I’ve already done that.”
“I know, but the doctor ordered more because he didn’t quite see every angle he needed to see.” Poppy chirped cheerily as she rolled the wheelchair in, unlocked, and unfolded it.
“If you do the job right the first time, you don’t have to do it again,” Mr. Santino protested grumpily.
His negativity didn’t faze Poppy in the slightest as she smiled and held out her hand to assist him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Arthur, stop. You be nice,” Yaya reprimanded him. “She only does what a doctor tells her to do.”
“Who said I was talking about her not doing her job?!” Arthur snapped back as he placed his hand in Poppy’s palm and allowed her to help him into the wheelchair. As Poppy pushed him out of the room, he mumbled, “You women take things so personally.”
