Page 3 of The Billionaire & the Virgin Chef
“Momma’s never cominghome.”
“I know. Is that why you werehiding?”
She nods and meets my eyes. “But you found me. Are you sure we can’t go look for her? Maybe she’s hiding somewhere in the hospital. Maybe she’s just waiting for us to come look forher.”
“She’s dead, Joy. In heaven. Once you go to heaven, you can’t come back toearth.”
“But—”
“No.” I cut her off firmly. “Her body’s gone forever, no matter how much we wish to have herback.”
“I wantMomma.”
“I know.” I take her hand and make one step toward the door. “Metoo.”
She follows me. “Can we go into the ball pitfirst?”
“What?”
“The ball pit at Penny’s Playland. I want to go there. Then the bouncy castle. And the Whack-a-Mole.” Her tone is flat and devoid of emotion. This trip won’t be fun, but we’ll both make the best of the distraction. “And the clawmachine.”
“Of course. Grams gave me a lot of money. We can play every game youlike.”
“But let’s use the girls’ room first,” she tells me. “I don’t want anyone to see I wascrying.”
“It’s okay to cry.” I tuck some loose, wayward curls behind her ear and give her a soft smile. “Your friends willunderstand.”
“But I’m Joy. I’m not supposed to besad.”
* * *
Islipthe packet of bubblegum from my jeans pocket and stretch the opening to look inside. Perfect. Two areleft.
“Take one,” I tell Joy, tilting the opening in herdirection.
She stares at it longingly with her big blue doe eyes. “But I ate all mine. It’s not fair you have to lose one ofyours.”
She says the words, but her tiny hands tell another story as one curls around my wrist, steadying the packet so she can slip one out with theother.
“Just have it. It’s almost time to take the bus home. Are you ready to help me bake thosecookies?”
She shakes her head and curls fly in every which way from the force. “I want to meet Grams… to see thefuneral.”
“Grams saidno.”
“Why can’t we seeMomma?”
“Because wecan’t.”
“I want to seeher.”
“I just told you that Grams said no. She going to be our new Momma now. What she saysgoes.”
“Why?” she whines, eyes filled with new tears that threaten to pour down herface.
“She doesn’t want us to remember Momma that way. Now stop asking the same questions over and over. It’s time to go home. Let’sgo.”
“I want to die too!” she screeches above the fun-filled shouts, cries of enjoyment, and ambient mechanical and digital noises of nearby arcade games. “Then I can be where sheis.”
