By Amanda Brooke
What might you do when you may well write the tale of your life?
After fighting a mind tumour twenty-nine 12 months outdated Emma thinks she is within the transparent, yet her international comes crashing down round her whilst she is advised her struggle was once in useless, and there's not anything extra the medical professionals can do.
Realising that she won’t now have time to accomplish the issues she dreamed of, Emma comes to a decision to jot down her ideal existence in a narrative. She imagines every thing she might have performed, the areas she might have visible, the husband she may have shared her existence with and the kin they might have raised. And, mysteriously, as she writes her tale, she begins to note that a few of her desires appear to be coming true.
Now with a true love in her lifestyles, and her fading wish burning brighter, truth and fiction begin to turn into blurred. As she writes their life-long love tale Emma dares to think that something is feasible, yet can she relatively switch her destiny?
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Extra info for Another Way to Fall
I crossed my arms over my chest and tried not to cry. She pulled her bangs across her forehead as she walked. “Wow,” she said. ” “Yeah, right,” I said. I gave the railing a pathetic little kick. It didn’t move. I wiped one eye and then the other with the backs of my hands. “Not to worry, girlfriend,” Cynthia said. “I have power tools. ” She took a few steps in the direction of her house, then stopped and turned around. “Oh, wait,” she said. Her hand was still on her forehead, as if she had a serious headache.
I asked. “No, no, I know I’m in Spain. ” I opened a door off the hallway and stepped into a huge master bathroom: dual vanities, huge tumbled travertine tiles everywhere, a curved glass block wall that reminded me of an igloo, a toilet, a urinal. No, actually it was a bidet. Apparently someone forgot to tell Cynthia that bidets went out in the ’80s. I wasn’t the kind of person who would normally snoop, but it was just a bathroom. I stepped inside and pulled the door closed behind me. A wisp of a pink negligee dangled from a heavy metal hook on the back of the door.
Joni nodded. She scrolled for a while longer, then stopped and looked at me over her zebra-striped reading glasses. “Hey, you don’t want to jump in on that Costa Rican surfing trip, do you? I think we might need another set of hands. ” It was positively Pavlovian the way I could feel myself salivate. Six days in Costa Rica. Sun and surf and an optional side trip to the rain forest. I could picture myself sprawled in a hammock on my hotel patio…sipping a drink out by the pool…curled up in my hotel room with a good book.