Leslie smiled at his serious little face. “She’ll always be my mama, Justin, but she’s dead now.”
“Oh. So’s our mama.”
“Do you remember her?” Leslie asked, even though she felt guilty about doing so. She knew their father wouldn’t like her asking questions.
Both boys shook their heads no.
“We was little babies.”
The buzzer on the oven halted their conversation and for the next few minutes both boys were more interested in eating the pie dough treats with a glass of milk.
“There’s only three left, Leslie. Do you want one?” Justin asked.
“No, thanks.”
“What are you making now?”
“A chicken casserole that can be frozen for dinner tomorrow night.” Concentrating on her cooking, Leslie didn’t notice the silence for several minutes. When she did, she turned to observe her audience, only to find the two of them whispering.
“Is anything wrong?”
“We was wonderin’, Leslie, if we could take these three pieces to Daddy?” Justin asked. “He would like them.”
She checked her watch. It was a little after three. He might be waking up from the last dose of medication. “That’s very thoughtful of you, boys. If you’ll be careful, you can take some milk up, too.”
“Aren’t you coming with us?”
“No. I’m sure you can manage on your own.” Truth was, she had no intention of going to that man’s bedroom ever again. Every time she did, all she could think about was how it felt to be pressed against his long body.
The boys climbed the stairs carefully. When they pushed open the door, they discovered their father lying in bed, his eyes open.
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