Hope Girl Read Online Free PDF Page B

she’s not snoring or wearing her tie-dyed nightgown with glow-in-the-dark peace signs.
    Dr. Wing moves close to Gram. “Rosa, has there been any change in Mrs. Nuthatch’s status?”
    Rosa shakes her head. “No, Doctor.”
    He takes Gram’s hand. “Good morning, Mrs. Nuthatch. If you can hear me, squeeze my hand.”
    Gram doesn’t move.
    â€œMrs. Nuthatch, can you blink your eyes?”
    I watch Gram’s eyes. Nothing.
    Dr. Wing slides a chair close to Gram’s bed. “River,” he says, “please sit. Hold your grandmother’s hand and talk to her. I’m not sure if she can hear, but it’s worth a try.”
    As I tell Gram I’m sorry for being mean to her, Dr. Wing pulls Dad to the other side of the room. I hear their conversation.
    Dr. Wing clears his throat. “The swelling caused considerable brain damage. Without life support, there’s basically no chance she’ll survive. But if she does, she’ll never walk, talk, or have a meaningful life.” He clears his throat again. “We could keep her on life support for months, but there’s no point. You should make funeral arrangements. If there’s no change by Friday morning, I’ll turn off the machines.”
    I tell myself not to worry. I know she’ll wake up.

8

    But I Know Different
    D ad pulls out of the hospital’s parking lot. “Tell you what,” he says, “let’s get your mind off things and head into town. I have something to show you.”
    He drives down Main Street, pulls to the side of the road, and then parks in front of a small house. The sign out front says: For Rent. It looks like a small cottage you’d find hidden deep within the woods. It’s white with forest green shutters, and below each window is a flower box filled with red geraniums.
    Dad turns off his car. “Wait ’til you see inside.” He jumps out and heads for the front walkway.
    I hurry to catch up. “What’s going on?”
    He pulls the rent sign from the ground. “We won’t need this anymore.” He places a key in my hand. “Take a look.”
    The door swings open to a place that feels magical—like it’s from a different time. Everything’s old and dusty but cozy in a different kind of way. To the left there’s a small living room with a big stone fireplace. It has a straw broom leaning against it, and there’s an oil lamp on the mantle with a box of matches. To the right of the entryway is a tiny bedroom with one bed and a small wooden desk with a metal lamp.
    I walk forward down the hall to a small kitchen. The cupboards are filled with dishes, cups, pots and pans, and silverware that look so old that they’re probably antiques. I run my hand across the table. “Are we living here ’til Gram gets better?”
    Dad laughs. “No, but you can come here as often as you want. A photographer needs a good assistant.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    Dad smiles. “I’m moving to Birdsong.”
    â€œSo… this is our new home?”
    â€œNo, this will be my studio. I’m starting a photography business.”
    â€œThen where are you going to live?”
    Dad explains, “I planned on staying with Henry and Elizabeth while I had a house built, but since your grandmother’s in the hospital, I’ll put that on hold and stay with you at your grandmother’s until she recovers. How does that sound?”
    â€œSeems like a good idea. That way you can sleep in Gram’s bed and won’t need to sleep on the Whippoorwills’ couch.”
    â€œThen it’s a plan. Now getting back to the studio,” he says, “take a look at that lighting in the living room. It’s full of natural light, perfect for pictures. The bedroom will be my office, and the kitchen’s exactly what we need for a quick meal when we’re here.” He pulls