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The woman looks at me with a sly smile, one I have seen before in Joyce.
“You’re sharks, all of you realtors!” She says it with humor, waving a hand. “I remember when Frank and I bought this apartment, they wanted to know every tiny detail, down to our shoe sizes!”
I snicker, and she looks at me, still smiling.
“We’re going to play in my room!” Sophia announces, taking Anna by the hand.
Both Cora and I smile and nod, then Cora turns back to look at me.
“Joyce is a good girl, Logan,” Cora says, her eyes distant and pleading. “Please don’t lead her on.”
I bow down my head and think about what she said. Maybe Joyce had bad experiences before? I certainly don’t want to be one of them.
“Don’t worry, Cora,” I say, looking sincerely at her. “I’m doing my best to be as transparent as I can with her.”
Cora nods and, seemingly pleased, changes the subject. “How old is your little girl?”
“Just turned five, a few months ago,” I say, proud. “Sophia is twelve, right?”
“That’s right,” she says, “Her birthday is coming up. I thought I wouldn’t live to see it!”
And she laughs at that horrid statement, letting me know without a doubt that the giggle fits run in the family. At least she sees the good side of things, unlike me most of the time.
“Mind if I ask about the girls’ father? Frank, right?” I ask, in my attempt to keep the conversation going.
“He was a clod, but I loved him.” We look at each other and we both smile. “He passed from a heart attack when Sophia was just a few years old, and Joyce was fourteen. Joyce got her first job that year in the same grocery store Gabby works.”
“Always the responsible one, huh?” I lean over the couch’s arm to better hear her.
“Very,” Cora lays a hand over her heart. “Joyce has always helped me. I don’t know where I’d be without that girl. Joyce told me you’re a widower?”
“Yes,” I reply, my lips pressing into a thin line of resignation. “She passed away three years ago.”
“Aw,” her face melts into compassion. “The little one. Does she miss her?”
I shake my head. “She barely remembers her mother. She misses having a mom because all her friends have one, but she doesn’t miss Andrea’s memory at all. God knows I tried to keep it alive in her.”
Cora nods, an empathetic smile on her lips. “For Sophia, Frank is just a video, a face in a picture, someone we talk about. I don’t think she cares much about his memory, but I can’t blame her. She was so little when he left us.”
And it’s my turn to show her an empathetic smile, my heart filling with compassion.
We have lunch an hour later, delicious baked ziti. The slices of pepperoni that were included in the pasta and cheese layers gave it a New York twist.
After dessert, we go sit in the living room, where Sophia begins to pester me with questions. Sitting on the floor with Anna while the two watch TV, she looks at me with defiance, and fearlessness as she makes her next inquiry.
“So, how much money do you have?” she asks, bluntly.
I almost choke on my drink. Quickly, Joyce comes to my rescue.
“Sophia! That is not polite to ask!” she says.
“Don’t make me order you to your room!” Cora adds.
“What did I do wrong?” Sophia stands, hands on her hips. “We all know the guy has money, so he can spare some for Joyce’s college, right?”
I decide to ignore Sophia in favor of Joyce, who’s hiding her face in her hands, red as a tomato.
I touch her wrists and say her name, “Joyce…”
