Linda Cardillo - Dancing On Sunday Afternoons Read Online Free Page A

hospital, moving from the bril iance and shimmer of light and heat that had surrounded me al day into shadowed dimness. Everything in the lobby was in shades of brown, like the sepia tones Renaissance artists used to create the sinopia, the preliminary sketch under a fresco. The highly polished linoleum, the wooden paneling that climbed three-quarters of the way up the whitewashed walls, the tattered seats in the waiting room, even the habit of the Franciscan nun sitting at the reception desk, created an aura of subdued and quiet sanctuary.
    She looked up as I approached. When I asked for my grandmother, she jumped up.
    "Oh, we've been expecting you! The signora was tel ing everyone that you were coming. Let me cal Reverend Mother. She can explain your grandmother's condition before you go up to see her."
    Within minutes, Reverend Mother, an energetic and ageless woman and the director of the hospital, swooped into the lobby and kissed me on both cheeks.
    "Can I get you some tea, my dear, while we talk about your grandmother? Come, let's go to my office."
    I sank into the chair she offered and grateful y accepted the hot cup of tea that she produced within a minute.
    On her desk was a file on which I could read my grandmother's name. I was beginning to feel—with some relief, given my fatigue—that Giulia had things under control here, if she had the hospital so well prepared for my arrival.
    "Your grandmother is quite a formidable woman, as I'm sure you know. She was very busy the last two days keeping us al informed of your coming. I believe she feels a need to protect and watch out for you. But I must tel you, my dear, she needs you to watch over her, although she'd be the last to admit it. She's in a weakened state because of the night she spent alone after her fal —we've been replenishing her fluids with an IV, but at her age, even twelve hours of dehydration can be damaging. She was disoriented when she got here. She has recovered her faculties enough to issue edicts and lists, I understand, but I have to caution you that your grandmother has a long road ahead to recover from this fal . In many cases, with patients of this age, we would not even be considering a hip replacement."
    I absorbed Reverend Mother's report in silence, gradual y comprehending the gravity of my grandmother's condition.
    "I hadn't realized how serious this fal was," I murmured. "I naively believed I was asked to be here as a companion to her."
    "I'm not trying to overwhelm you and burden you so soon after your arrival, but I felt it was important for you to understand the severity of her injury and to warn you before you see her. She's quite bruised and also very angry with herself for fal ing. We've also had to increase her morphine dosage because of the pain, so she may begin to drift.
    "The surgeon wil be in tomorrow morning at eight o'clock and can give you the details about her operation.
    More than likely he will operate on Tuesday morning."
    I nodded, understanding that I would need to be an advocate for my grandmother.
    "May I ask you if you've booked a place to stay? If not, I'd like to encourage you to stay here with your grandmother. We can have a cot set up in her room. In my opinion, it would be a blessing for her to have you so close."
    I set down my teacup because my hand was shaking. With four children, I'd seen my share of emergency rooms, and my youngest had been hospitalized for four days with pneumonia, so I was no stranger to the emotional fragility caused by il ness and the need for a family member to be close at hand. But despite my confidence in Giulia's ability to control even this situation, Reverend Mother had quickly and authoritatively set me straight.
    I leaned my elbows on her desk and put my head in my hands. I felt the adrenaline of the last two days seeping out of me and tears of exhaustion and doubt well up. Reverend Mother came around her desk with a handkerchief and put an arm around me.
    "Everything