Just outside Frank’s door she lifted the pudding from her purse and stuck her head and her hand into his room. Dangling the sack, she sang out, “I’m delivering Mrs. Chandler’s rice pudding.” Frank waved. “I send my grandson and a bird of paradise returns. How lucky can one old guy get?” A heart spasm jolted through her chest as if hit by electricity. He was lucky enough to be nearing the end of his life, lucky enough to be moderately pain-free right now, and lucky enough to have a grandson who loves him. “So if you were going to share with Jake, can I, please, have his portion?” she asked. Seemed like justice to her. “I really shouldn’t, should I?” “Sure you can.” A twinkle of life sparkled in his eyes when he grinned, as if they were sharing a big conspiracy. “It does happen to be my favorite, too.” She popped the lid off one container and divided it equally.
