Thirty Days: Part One (A SwipeDate Novella Book 1) by BT Urruela

Author:BT Urruela [Urruela, BT]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Part One
Publisher: BT URRUELA
Published: 2017-02-26T16:00:00+00:00

I don’t often take Grandma outside during fall and winter, but from time to time, I like to bundle her up and take her out to Central Park, just beside the Bow Bridge where Grandpa took her on dates when they were younger. She used to tell me about those days, when he showed her that the kind of love she read about in books was real. I used to revel in the stories; the summers spent soaking up every word.

I take her here for the same reason I take her to all her old haunts—for the same reason I spend hours letting her feel, smell, and connect with her old books—in hopes that it triggers something… so that I may have my Grandma back again, if only for an afternoon.

I push her chair through Central Park, enjoying her bobbing head and looks of joy at the beautiful fall colors, and wildlife darting back and forth. We stop just before the Bow Bridge, not far from the spot where Grandpa proposed to her some fifty years ago. The Plaza Hotel juts into the horizon just past the bridge and as I snag a blanket from the bag I brought, I notice Grandma is mesmerized by the towering twin buildings.

“That’s the Plaza, Grace. You’ve stayed there before,” I say, and she looks over at me inquisitively.

“I have?”

“Yes, ma’am. You and your husband stayed there for your honeymoon.”

“My husband?” She puts two frail hands to her chest and shakes her head slowly. “No, I never married.”

Understanding I’m treading a fine line here, I’m careful with my words. “Long ago, you were. He was a soldier and policeman… and you were a nurse.” Her brow scrunches, her head shaking again from side to side. I don’t often talk about her past with her. It can lead to confusion and, at times, anger. Sometimes I try, nonetheless. Just to see if it triggers something in her.

“I think you have me mistaken with someone else,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone before her gaze drifts back out to the skyline.

“Eh, you might be right. I tend to do that,” I say with a light laugh.

“Well, don’t go confusing me with anyone else, sonny. I’m Grace.”

“Okay, Grace. I won’t.” I smile, pulling a small stack of hardbacks from the bag, along with a lunch I packed for us.

I read from Jane Eyre while she lightly picks at the sandwich and chips I brought her. These may be the only times where her undivided attention isn’t mine when reading to her. She’s always so busy, with her eyes following the critters who dart back and forth across the open terrain, and the choppy water as the sun reflects off its surface. She takes long, deep breaths and sighs out in contentment. Jane Eyre is one of those books I’ve read to her so many times I nearly have it memorized, so I often let my eyes go to her, and I soak up the joy she gets from being out here.

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