Every Girl Gets Confused Read Free Page B

mashed potatoes, gravy, and a biscuit. As long as he kept kissing me like that, we’d burn off the calories in no time.

3 E verybody Loves a Lover
    Wrinkles are hereditary. Parents get them from their children.
    Doris Day
    N o one loved my hometown of Fairfield as much as my grandmother, Queenie Fisher. She never left unless one of two things happened: the Lord spoke in an audible voice or she had to visit her orthopedist in Dallas to tend to her titanium knee. On the first Thursday in November she had an appointment with the knee doctor. Ironic, since her knee doc was Brady’s knee doc too. Small world, orthopedics.
    She’d deliberately scheduled her appointment on the same day as Brady’s so we could all meet up. Her plan? Visit the doc, grab lunch, and then pick out her wedding gown. Withmy help, of course. I couldn’t get over the fact that my grandmother was getting married. Crazy! I couldn’t wait to spend time with her and with her groom-to-be.
    It would take some getting used to, seeing Reverend Bradford with her, but there he was, his eyes shimmering with adoration for my grandmother as he helped her out of the car and into the building. Minutes later, the four of us sat in the rather sterile waiting room of Metroplex Orthopedics, Queenie and I catching up on the goings-on back in Fairfield while the fellas talked about basketball.
    Out of the corner of my eye I could see the pained expression on Brady’s face as the good reverend talked about the Mavericks. Missing out on this was killing him, especially since the team seemed to be struggling. I sensed Brady’s pain, though he rarely spoke of it. The fans were missing him too, if one could judge from the outpouring of love and concern every time Brady went out in public.
    â€œDr. Jennings will get him fixed up in a hurry.” Queenie’s words startled me back to the present. I turned to her, my spirits lifting as I picked up on her zeal. The edges of her lips had curled up in a soft smile, emphasizing the wrinkles on her cheeks. At eighty-two years of age she still had the prettiest skin of anyone I knew, though it was tissue-paper thin. And she was a whiz with the makeup brush, adding just the right amount of blush and lipstick. As always, practically perfect in every way.
    â€œOh, I know, Queenie. This next surgery should take care of everything.”
    Reverend Bradford glanced our way. “Hoping she doesn’t have to have a second surgery, Katie.”
    â€œWe weren’t talking about me, Paul.” Queenie patted her titanium knee. “I’m just here for a checkup. Gotta figure outwhy these metal parts are giving me such fits. Do you think it’s possible to be allergic to titanium?”
    â€œI suppose anything’s possible, but let’s hope it’s not that.” I glanced up as a new patient entered the waiting room. He approached the sliding glass window and carried on a conversation with the receptionist, then took a seat.
    â€œJust got to make sure before the big day.” Queenie’s voice reminded me that we were mid-conversation. “I don’t want my right knee to lock up while I’m cruising down the aisle toward Prince Charming here.” She gave Reverend Bradford a little wink, which he returned. I couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped. I’d witnessed the stern side of my grandmother for years. And the bossy side. But the romantic side? This was a new one. And the image of her cruising down the aisle on her titanium knee got me tickled. I’d seen her hobbling, but never cruising.
    Brady chimed in, talking about a friend of his, a guy from church, who had a titanium knee. Reverend Bradford countered with a story about a guy who had a prosthetic hip. Before long we were all cracking jokes about mechanical body parts. Then the nurse called my grandmother’s name.
    She rose, albeit slowly—no cruising whatsoever. “Let’s see what