Free No Time to Die by Kira Peikoff

too, for he whispered in her ear: “Go give your mother a hug.”
    She stood and went to her parents on the sofa opposite Gramps, where her father stood fuming.
    â€œDon’t worry so much about me. I’ve gotten this far.” She bent down and hugged her mother tightly. Then, just as she was turning to her father, he walked over to Gramps, who pushed himself up from his recliner and stood again without his cane, staring up at his formidable son-in-law.
    â€œI don’t appreciate,” said Stephen through clenched teeth, “any further interference in our family matters.”
    â€œStephen—” Pam interrupted, but he ignored her.
    â€œI will act as I see fit,” Gramps replied.
    â€œHe was just looking out for me, Dad,” Zoe interrupted, hurrying between them. Her small body barely reached to their chests. “Relax.”
    Stephen did not break eye contact with him. “You’ve insulted me and encouraged my daughter down a path I regard as dangerous. Now, I’m giving you one last chance. Unless you agree to back off, I’m going to have to find you another living arrangement.”
    â€œNo!” Zoe cried. “You can’t do that! Please!”
    â€œStephen,” her mother pleaded, “that’s really not necess—”
    â€œThat’s okay.” Gramps held up a hand. “I’ve ruffled a lot of feathers. I’ll stay out of it from now on.” He looked down at Zoe, and only she caught the mischievous smile in his eyes. “It’s about time I excuse myself.”
    Stephen gave a curt nod and stepped aside. Gramps shuffled toward the stairs, squaring his shoulders just as he’d taught Zoe to do whenever the boys at school taunted her. As he approached the foot of the stairs, she noticed, in his path, a pair of sandals that she had mindlessly kicked off. Before she could even shout, his foot had hooked into one of the glittery silver straps, shifting his already precarious balance a notch off center. Oh God, it was too much—he pitched forward, arms flailing to find the cane he had left behind.
    â€œHere!” she screeched, racing toward him, holding it out like a sword two feet in front of her. Why, oh why had she been so careless with her shoes, after all her mother’s nagging—
    He tried to spin around to meet her, but the effort clinched his fall. Her sandal slid out behind him across the slick wooden floor, thrusting him face forward at a sickening speed. His hands barely rose up in time to greet the crashing ground. As he splayed across it, Zoe heard an unmistakable crack, like a hollow branch splitting in two. She screamed and rushed to his side, dropping the cane. Her parents were beside them in an instant.
    â€œMy wrist,” he moaned, twisting into the fetal position and holding his right wrist to his chest. Dizziness overcame Zoe when she noticed its angle—it was bent all the way backward, the back of his hand touching his forearm.
    â€œGo call 911,” her mother instructed. “Hurry.”
    She obeyed, rising in disbelief. “But it was just a slip,” she murmured. “I trip all the time . . .”
    A heavy arm draped over her shoulders. “His bones are frail,” her father said, as they turned away from Gramps’s writhing. “I shouldn’t have been so harsh. I just forget how old and fragile he is.”
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    Hours later, after Gramps had checked out of the hospital with a bright white cast from knuckles to elbow and a bottle of painkillers, after he had settled back into his favorite recliner and waved off Zoe’s heartfelt apologies for the fifth time, she snuck upstairs to her bedroom. Thunder rumbled overhead as she locked the door behind her, cell phone in hand, dialing a number already memorized. She endured several rings, her desperation climbing, as the rain outside smacked against her window.
    Finally a man answered in a monotone