Read Online Praefatio: A Novel by Georgia McBride - Free Book Online
Authors: Georgia McBride
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“Just you wait, the worst is yet to come.” She was taller than me, though that’s not saying much since I’m only five foot three on a holiday, when I am in a great mood, the sun is shining, and I’m whistling Dixie. Her voice was like silk—smooth—regardless of what she was saying.
She would check my morphine and temperature, then shake her head from side to side as if none of her efforts to fix me were working.
When she wasn’t coming or going, she was permanently parked at my bedside. Odd as it was, I liked knowing she was there. I wasn’t sure if it was the morphine or my craziness, but I could have sworn she was writing in the same book Remi had given me. The book had to be years old—like hundreds, maybe thousands. When she didn’t know I was looking, I watched words magically appear on its pages as she read.
Time moved in slow motion. My visions, time zips, and memories had stopped. The one day I wanted them, even needed them, they wouldn’t come. Without my flashes, I had no Remi, and without Remi, I was alone. Why hadn’t he come to visit? Why was I unable to hear him? And Gavin. What was he hoping I would learn? When would I see him again? The questions made my head and ribs ache even more.
I stared blankly at the white walls around me, imagining vivid colorful paintings, like those you might find in the Basilica di San Pietro in Rome.
I was never particularly religious and had stopped going to church when I was seven. Even so, my dad made sure we continued to attend Sunday school until I turned nine. I always found logical holes in what we were taught. Let me just say: The kid who finds holes in the story is not the most popular kid in Sunday school.
Whenever I asked Dad about something that made little sense to me, he would scrunch his eyebrows, the way he did on the rare occasion that I had frustrated him, and say, “You should know, you were there.” I thought it was a ruse to get me to pay more attention. But I thought I had been paying attention.
Memories of my dad brought a smile to my face. I opened my eyes. The angels I thought I was only imagining were moving, walking toward a crowd of more angels, slowly, deliberately. I shook my head in fear and disbelief and closed my eyes. When I opened them again, the angels were still there. In the garden I’d visited.
Oh my God. Mom?
Mom stood with her right arm outstretched. “Walk with me, Grace,” was how it sounded. I couldn’t tell since I was still unsure at this point if it was a vision, a dream, or a complete psychotic break from reality.
I climbed out of bed, and despite my fears, reached out to accept her hand. It hurt when I reached out. Are my ribs broken in my dream too ? Mom chuckled as though she could hear my thoughts.
“Mom? Where are we?” Unflippingreal.
“The Garden, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart? Who are you, and what have you done with my mother?
She turned to face me and suddenly became very serious and maternal. It was more than I could take, especially her all-white getup. Maybe this was a dream after all, and I was seeing her as I wanted her to be, not as she actually was. She never wore white. She used to say it was a very unflattering color, even for babies.
Her yellow hair seemed golden with all that light shining down on it, or maybe the light was emanating from her. She looked like a superhero.
“Grace, I have so much to tell you and very little time,” she began. She took a quick breath, then readied her next line as emotion clouded her face. “First, I love you. I love you like my own daughter, and have always thought of you as mine.” She hurried on as if she were afraid I would stop her. Shock nearly paralyzed me, though my ribs continued to hurt. “Your mother, Rosa … your birth mother, I’m afraid I don’t know where she is. Gabriel … Gabe wanted to tell you sooner, but we had to wait until the time was right. I know you think I was hard on you, that I did not like you. But I was
She would check my morphine and temperature, then shake her head from side to side as if none of her efforts to fix me were working.
When she wasn’t coming or going, she was permanently parked at my bedside. Odd as it was, I liked knowing she was there. I wasn’t sure if it was the morphine or my craziness, but I could have sworn she was writing in the same book Remi had given me. The book had to be years old—like hundreds, maybe thousands. When she didn’t know I was looking, I watched words magically appear on its pages as she read.
Time moved in slow motion. My visions, time zips, and memories had stopped. The one day I wanted them, even needed them, they wouldn’t come. Without my flashes, I had no Remi, and without Remi, I was alone. Why hadn’t he come to visit? Why was I unable to hear him? And Gavin. What was he hoping I would learn? When would I see him again? The questions made my head and ribs ache even more.
I stared blankly at the white walls around me, imagining vivid colorful paintings, like those you might find in the Basilica di San Pietro in Rome.
I was never particularly religious and had stopped going to church when I was seven. Even so, my dad made sure we continued to attend Sunday school until I turned nine. I always found logical holes in what we were taught. Let me just say: The kid who finds holes in the story is not the most popular kid in Sunday school.
Whenever I asked Dad about something that made little sense to me, he would scrunch his eyebrows, the way he did on the rare occasion that I had frustrated him, and say, “You should know, you were there.” I thought it was a ruse to get me to pay more attention. But I thought I had been paying attention.
Memories of my dad brought a smile to my face. I opened my eyes. The angels I thought I was only imagining were moving, walking toward a crowd of more angels, slowly, deliberately. I shook my head in fear and disbelief and closed my eyes. When I opened them again, the angels were still there. In the garden I’d visited.
Oh my God. Mom?
Mom stood with her right arm outstretched. “Walk with me, Grace,” was how it sounded. I couldn’t tell since I was still unsure at this point if it was a vision, a dream, or a complete psychotic break from reality.
I climbed out of bed, and despite my fears, reached out to accept her hand. It hurt when I reached out. Are my ribs broken in my dream too ? Mom chuckled as though she could hear my thoughts.
“Mom? Where are we?” Unflippingreal.
“The Garden, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart? Who are you, and what have you done with my mother?
She turned to face me and suddenly became very serious and maternal. It was more than I could take, especially her all-white getup. Maybe this was a dream after all, and I was seeing her as I wanted her to be, not as she actually was. She never wore white. She used to say it was a very unflattering color, even for babies.
Her yellow hair seemed golden with all that light shining down on it, or maybe the light was emanating from her. She looked like a superhero.
“Grace, I have so much to tell you and very little time,” she began. She took a quick breath, then readied her next line as emotion clouded her face. “First, I love you. I love you like my own daughter, and have always thought of you as mine.” She hurried on as if she were afraid I would stop her. Shock nearly paralyzed me, though my ribs continued to hurt. “Your mother, Rosa … your birth mother, I’m afraid I don’t know where she is. Gabriel … Gabe wanted to tell you sooner, but we had to wait until the time was right. I know you think I was hard on you, that I did not like you. But I was
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