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“Go downstairs; daddy will be right there,” I say, and she darts off with an “Okay!” and a streak of red and blue left behind her.
I take my wallet from the dresser and place it in the inner pocket of my blazer, then take the bottle of cologne and spray just a little bit behind my ears. The keys are hanging on their respective hooks in the foyer, so I make my way downstairs, hearing the voices of my guests there.
“So many pretty ladies,” I say as I descend. Joyce, Anna and even Sophia smile, even though my tone sounds more like sarcasm than a compliment.
“And one handsome gentleman!” Joyce says, walking over and giving me a kiss.
“Are we really going to Manhattan?” Sophia asks, fists curled under her chin, full of expectations.
“You’ve never been?” I say, walking with my arm around Joyce.
“I’ve only ever been out of Brooklyn because mom’s hospital is in Long Island!” She says with an angry wave.
“Sophia, you’re funny!” Anna says, giggling again.
“Everybody is funny then, huh?” I get the keys and open the door.
“Yes!” she says, arms raised high.
We get in the Lamborghini and start our journey to Manhattan. Our destination is the Gershwin Theater, where we are going to watch the latest rendition of Wicked.
On the way out, we are all obviously very entertained, the girls a little more so than me — Anna is singing the catchiest lyrics wrong, Sophia can’t stop talking about the show, and Joyce is all starry eyed and euphoric.
“It was our first Broadway show. Thank you,” Joyce stands on the tips of her toes to kiss me, and I kiss her back, just happy I found something that they all enjoyed.
“You’re welcome,” I say with a sideways smirk. “So…”
I now sound worried and tired, at least to my ears. Joyce senses something is wrong, and places a hand on my cheek, looking at me with concerned eyes.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, rubbing my back.
“Jane talked to me,” I rip it off like a band-aid. “You were right, she dealt with it poorly.”
We walk together though Broadway’s brightly lit sidewalks, Sophia and Anna a few paces ahead of us. Joyce and I are walking together, arm in arm. The kids have no clue what we’re talking about, and that encourages Joyce to continue.
“I don’t know what to do about it, Logan,” she sighs painfully. “Ifwe should do anything.”
I nod and let out a deep breath. “Jane will need time. We all need time.” I rub her shoulder.
“But you are sure about what you want?” Joyce asks me, seeking validation.
“Absolutely,” I don’t bat an eyelash. “I want you. I want to be with you. For as long as I can.”
“Aw!” she purrs, then stops to kiss me deeply, cupping my face in her hands.
Anna and Sophia turn to face us as we kiss. They are giggling, but at least I know they are only a few feet ahead of us.
This scene of us would fit nicely into the lyrics of one of those syrupy pop songs Joyce likes. Her kiss is bliss, balm to my soul and remedy to my body. She kisses not only with her mouth, but with her whole being, both physically and emotionally.
I’m gasping for air because of that kiss, when I hear my name called in an angry tone. Joyce and I break apart, and I look around to see where the voice is coming from. When I hear it again, Anna is the one who identifies it.
“Aunt Jane!” She points a finger in her direction.
Turning my head, I see Jane coming towards us, fists curled at her sides. She is fuming at the nostrils and has a murderous expression on her face.
“Your phone was turned off, so I called your house,” Jane says through a clenched jaw.
“What do you want, Jane?” I say, already fed up.
