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“Hey!” Joyce says in self-defense. “What did I do?”
“You’re always happy and I find it annoying,” I say in a single breath with a straight face.
Much to my lack of surprise, Joyce begins to laugh.
“I love you too, Mr. Bardin,” she says.
It’s a joke, but it moves me. The only female who has said those words to me in the past three years is Anna.
Caught off guard, I find myself at a loss for words.
“The stain is under control, just finish with Anna and you’re free to go,” I finally manage to get out.
Joyce’s eyes widen, as if surprised that I actually did something useful. “Mr. Bardin, you didn’t have to…”
“Eh, I’m not afraid of a little work,” I say, and it’s the truth. “My father made me clean bathrooms for a whole summer when I was growing up. He said it builds character.”
“My mom says the same thing,” Joyce says calmly, laying the hairbrush over Anna’s dresser. “’Hard work builds character!’ I think I have the strongest character around, then.”
I show a small smile at her humor.
I lean forward and start sealing the paints to avoid more stains. Anna comes to help me, but I gently shoo her away, “No baby, let daddy do it.”
Anna looks at Joyce, seeking comfort, and Joyce simply pats her head lightly and asks, “It’s okay if I go, Mr. Bardin?”
“I already said you can go, Joyce,” I say, impatient. “See you tomorrow.”
“Alright! See you two tomorrow, then.”
Anna raises her arms, wanting one last hug from Joyce, and Joyce gives it to her with exactly the intensity she was looking for.
Joyce then looks at me, as if wanting to hug me too, but then just leaves without saying anything else.
“You’ll only be using your paints outside from now on,” I say, closing the metal box and placing it back in the closet.
“Okay, daddy,” Anna says, sounding disappointed.
“Are you sad, baby?” I ask, walking to her. She just nods her head. “Why?”
“I don’t like it when Joyce leaves,” she says, teary.
“Oh, you made friends with her, didn’t you?” I say, taking her in my arms.
“Can Joyce live here, daddy?” Anna asks, her eyes full of hope.
I briefly wince, knowing that the answer I’m going to give is not the one she wants to hear.
“No, baby,” she frowns. She’s about to cry and I’m miserable inside. “Joyce has her own place where she lives and a family she takes care of. She comes here to take care of you only when daddy isn’t around to do it.”
Now she’s pouting, angry with me that I’m not fulfilling her whims.
“How about we watch a cartoon while Mary makes dinner?” I suggest.
“Okay,” she says, her knuckles in her mouth.
I kiss her on the cheek and head downstairs. Soon, she’ll have forgotten about this matter, at least until the next goodbye.
Chapter Five
