Living London - By Kristin Vayden Page 0,1

British than American because of how I'd mimic my beloved Nanna's speech. For all intents and purposes, Nanna had raised me after my parents had been killed in a plane crash. At the tender age of ten, I had no one else left.

Though I could never replace a parent, Nanna did her best to give me the best childhood possible. She and Grandpa Jake were my solid ground, and their love seasoned my life. Grandpa passed away my junior year of high school, leaving grandma and I the only ones left in our family. When Nanna died, I'd be truly alone. I placed my hands over hers again and laid my head down. The sweet smell of vanilla and the sterile smell of bleach both comforted me and broke me further. Each moment that passed was one less that she would be in this world, and time was running out. Warm tears trailed down my face and soaked the pink quilt as I silently mourned.

Feeling a gentle hand touch my shoulder, I jolted upright.

"Miss? I'm here to take care of Elinore. I need you to move so I can give her another dose of morphine. I'm so sorry to disturb you, but I don't want her in any pain, and I'm sure you don't either." The woman was so gentle in her words, tears stung new. I got up and moved away, giving Nanna one last kiss on her forehead. "I love you. I love you so much."

After administering the medication, the nurse turned to me with shining eyes brimming with tears. A moment later she walked over and gave me a gentle hug. "Don't worry; she's peaceful. She's not in any pain now, and I'm sure she knows you love her."

"Thank you," I managed as I wiped more tears away.

Picking up my purse, I gave Nanna one last glance before I walked to the door. As I turned the doorknob, I whispered one more time the words I wanted her to take with her to heaven. "I love you."

Chapter Two

Packing up Nanna's belongings was even more difficult than enduring her funeral. Each piece of furniture had a memory, each quilt a story, and every book was a piece of the rarest treasure to me. As I picked up her recent favorite, The Redemption of Lord Rawlings by Rachel Van Dyken, I opened up the first page. Closing my eyes, I remembered reading in Nanna's library by the fire in August a few years ago. She always said a good romance deserved a good setting. That particular book needed a roaring fire to create the perfect ambiance. At first I had thought she was having another spell, especially when I began to sweat, but when she started the second chapter I didn't feel the heat anymore. The crackle of wood and the faint smell of smoke were the perfect support to bring the story to life.

Flipping to one of my favorite scenes, I noticed the page was written over with thick black marker in Nanna's familiar handwriting. She must have written it a while ago. The steadiness of her hand had failed more than nine months before her passing. The black strokes of her penmanship caused a rueful grin to tilt my lips. For all her elegant ways, she had loved black felt-tipped markers. The bold black writing was one of the few things she could read in the last year of her life. The writing was distinct, and as I read the words her voice echoed in my mind. "Jocelyn, my dove. I miss you…" My grin faded into fresh pain as a sob broke free. I reached for a box of tissues and pulled one out just in time to catch a tear before it dropped on the page.

"I miss you, and I hate to think of you being all alone. Though you have friends, I know you'll be feeling bereft. So as my parting gift to you, I give you time. Strange as it may sound, as I came forward to find my Jakob, I'm sending you back to find yours. You have been taught well for this day. Remember what you have learned, and it will serve you. I have loved you with every heartbeat, and though my heart is silent now, in Heaven my soul awaits our blessed reunion."

The words blurred on the page, and I blinked forcing the tears to fall before continuing. "I'll be sure to have some strong hot tea, a good