Rescuing Hearts: A Sapphic Novel of Lesbian Romance (The Healing Hearts Series Book 1) by Ruby Scott

Author:Ruby Scott [Scott, Ruby]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: D&V Publishing
Published: 2022-10-02T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

FENNA

It’s amazing how something as simple as being without your phone can completely throw your day. I mean, it wasn’t that I didn’t have a phone because I did, but it wasn’t mine, it was Yaya’s. I only nipped in to drop off some paperbacks my mom had been collecting for her, and somehow our phones got mixed up. It wasn’t until I heard my name over the speaker in the staff canteen this morning, asking me to contact pediatrics, that I realized the phone I’d been clutching wasn’t mine.

“Yaya, it’s me,“ I shout as I push open the French doors that lead in from the patio. I keep telling her to lock this door, but she never listens. “It sticks,” she tells me again and again. I’ve even suggested I get one of the hospital maintenance workers to come by after work to look, but she won’t listen. She and Tata bought this house over fifty years ago, for almost no money by today’s standards. It’s where my father, uncles and aunts all grew up, and where many of my cousins and I have spent much of our lives too. Every inch holds memories for all our family, but nobody more than Yaya. The pencil marks with our all ages and heights are still on the wall in the kitchen, and she adds to it with each birthday of all my nieces and nephews.

I hear voices, and I stop for a second, trying to hear where they are coming from. I glance into the kitchen where the smell of Yaya’s rice and beans suddenly makes me hungry. On the countertop is her best china, the set Tata’s boss gave her and Tata when they married. It must be somebody special to go to this amount of effort. The last person to have gotten the best china treatment was the Archbishop when he came with the local priest looking for a donation to restore the stained glass windows.

“Fenna, is that you? We’re through here,” she shouts.

Just as well it is me, Yaya, I think, making my way through to the large drawing room at the front of the house. My grandmother is sitting on the sofa with a pile of old photo albums in front of her, one of which is open on her lap. She’s sitting next to a younger woman I don’t recognise, or at least I can’t see as her body is twisted away from me, but towards Yaya. She has the same rich reddish color of hair that Kristi has, and I can’t help but feel a brief pang in my heart as I remember how it glinted in the sun.

“Sorry. I didn’t know you had company, Yaya. I just came to return your phone.” I hold it up as if I’m brandishing a piece of vital evidence in a courtroom.

“Isn’t it strange how they got mixed up,” she says with an innocent expression.

“Mm, when did you change from your bright pink case with the rainbow?” I ask, stepping forward.

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