Carla gives me a hug. She reaches into her lab coat and pulls out my copy of Pie in the Sky. “Thank you for this. My mom finished it last night.” “What she think?” I ask. Carla lingers by the side of the car. “She loved it. We finally talked about my dad,” Carla says. “She asked me if there was still a hole in my heart as big as the pie in the sky.…” “And?” I ask Carla. “I told her there isn’t, because Dad lives there now,” Carla says, patting her chest. “And I want him to have the softest, happiest place to live.” I smile at Carla. What a wonderful, beautiful sentence in English. I try to
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