Back A Postcard from Italy
Chapters (38)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. PROLOGUE
  6. Chapter 1
  7. Chapter 2
  8. Chapter 3
  9. Chapter 4
  10. Chapter 5
  11. Chapter 6
  12. Chapter 7
  13. Chapter 8
  14. Chapter 9
  15. Chapter 10
  16. Chapter 11
  17. Chapter 12
  18. Chapter 13
  19. Chapter 14
  20. Chapter 15
  21. Chapter 16
  22. Chapter 17
  23. Chapter 18
  24. Chapter 19
  25. Chapter 20
  26. Chapter 21
  27. Chapter 22
  28. Chapter 23
  29. EPILOGUE
  30. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  31. BETTY’S TRULY SCRUMPTIOUS BABKA CAKE
  32. READ ON FOR A Q&A WITH ALEX …
  33. Keep Reading …
  34. PROLOGUE
  35. 1
  36. About the Author
  37. Also by Alex Brown
  38. About the Publisher

‘Where have you been?’ Cora bellowed the very second Grace turned the key in the lock and pushed open the front door. After slipping off her ballet pumps, Grace glanced at her watch to see that she had arrived home fifteen minutes later than usual, so grasped the banister and quickly made her way up the stairs to her mother’s bedroom. A trio of sudden thuds made her stop short. Surely Mum hasn’t tried to get out of bed by herself? Her legs aren’t up to it. What if she’s fallen?

‘Are you OK, Mum?’ Grace yelled out, rushing up the rest of the stairs and into the bedroom, her heart rate quickening on fully expecting to see her mother lying prone on the floor following a nasty fall. And given Cora’s considerable weight, there was no way Grace would be able to get her back up off the floor and into bed all by herself. If Jamie wasn’t at home to lend a hand, then Cora could end up being on the floor for hours.

‘Yes! And no thanks to you though!’ Cora was lying in bed with a pained look on her face. Grace breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Why would you leave me all alone for so long? I’m near dying of thirst here.’ Grace opened her mouth to answer as she saw a glass rolling across the carpet, stopping short when it hit the wheel of the commode which was now over by the wardrobe in the corner. Grace wondered how it had got so far away across the room and was certain it hadn’t been there when she was last in her mother’s bedroom. ‘I tried to help myself. Like you told me to,’ Cora said pointedly, looking the other way.

‘I’m sorry, Mum. But when we had the chat about you doing more for yourself, I didn—’

‘So you should be,’ Cora cut in. ‘I tried to lift the heavy jug to pour myself some water into the glass but my poor weak arms just aren’t up to it.’

‘Did you actually manage to get to the edge of the bed then, and sit up and lean over to lift the jug, by yourself?’ Grace asked.

‘How else do you think it ended up over there?’ Cora indicated with her head towards the glass. ‘I tried, Grace, but it must have spun away from my hand as I went to grasp it.’

‘I see. And how did the commode get over there?’

‘How should I know?’

‘And what were those thuds?’

‘What thuds?’ Cora asked evasively.

‘The thuds I heard when I was coming up the stairs?’ Grace asked again.