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“Momma! A bee just bit me!” she calls through the open window.

“Bees don’t have teeth. They have a stinger. You were stung.”

“No, momma. This bee had dentures! And, a black top hat!”

Momma smiles but does not look up from her ironing and crossword puzzle.

“What a fine dressed bee. Do you think he may want to come in for a tea party?”

She opens the kitchen door hand in hand with him.

Momma looks up and faints upsetting the ironing board and sending cascades of newspaper to the floor.

When she comes to, her daughter is kneeling over her, alone.

“Where is he?”

“The bee got on a bicycle and flew away.”

She grabs her daughter to her chest. She knows he’s been dead for years. She strokes her daughter’s hair wildly. She knows he’s been dead for years.

“He’s back,” she murmurs into her daughter’s forehead kissing it again and again.

“He’s back for her.”