Chapter Four

Lucky was sure that Joe had closed her eyes tightly. He opened the bag and brought out one item after the other, taking his time to assess it.

"Spread it; don't mold everything up," Joe commanded.

"Okay," Lucky looked up, "you are releasing your hands a little bit; she is seeing those fingers. Close it up."

"Keep your mouth shut and continue."

"I will."

Lucky responded, bringing out everything and sorting the items to their groups and giving an indication that he was done with it.

"You can go now," Joe summoned.

"No, let me see how she would react," Lucky persuaded.

"Never! I wouldn't. Leave now."

Lucky reluctantly and sheepishly walked out of the door feeling disappointed, but he would not leave the door after he had closed it. When Joe knew he had gone but wasn't too sure, he wanted to open the door, but his plan to make Bianca surprised would somehow be cut short, and he might get angry if he found Lucky at the door. So he kept to his plans.

"Dear, can you guess what was in the bag brought in?"

"Not good at guessing."

"Awesome!" Joe exclaimed.

He removed his hands from her eyes so quickly that Bianca had to blink twice or more before she could see properly.

"Huh? For me!" Bianca shouted.

"Shush," Joe signaled, placing his first finger on his mouth. "He might hear you."

"You've heard it already, too late!" Lucky responded from outside, dragging out the last two words.

"I know you do such silly things," Joe reiterated, locking the door from behind and walking back to the bed.

Bianca was so surprised with the items she saw that if a pastor, prophetess, or prophet had told her that a day such as this would ever come, she would have laughed the person to scorn. Joe was an angel in human form who was sent from God to help her, a divine helper from God. So, the testimonies she always hears about how somebody helped them from grass to grace were really true. It wasn't cooked up—this was a miracle, indeed a miracle.

"Take the pizza and eat it first before you do anything," said Joe.

"Wait, how will I appreciate you, JK?" She said, tears dripping once more from her eyes, "You are really awesome."

"How will I watch a damningly pretty girl with a lovely dimple become a beggar? It can never happen. Never!"

"Stop crying, dear," Joe pleaded. "God decided to visit you; stop crying."

"Thank you! What really should I do to appreciate you?"

"Nothing, dear" Joe whispered, "Just check any clothes or underwear that don't fit you. Just tell me, I will know what to do."

"No problem, JK." she answered, while cleaning up her tears.

"Eat the pizza," Joe retorted, dashing straight to the door, "We would be going out to register a sim for you. Bye."

Joe waved at Bianca and left.

Bianca dropped the pizza on the bed, got on her knees, and prayed to God. After her prayers, she stood up and started checking all the items―two wristwatches, five sandals, five high heel shoes, ten flat flat shoes, brassieres in their fifties, pants in their hundreds, singlets almost in their thirties, an Infinix Note 8 was there, a small button phone, but the skirts were uncountable, probably because she was tired of counting and also getting hungry. She managed to look at the tops; blouses were among them, T-shirts were among them, polos were among them, as were two turtleneck sweaters and a bathing gown.

The door flung open again, and it was Joe, already in a changed attire, precisely a small short on a singlet. He walked to the bed and sat down, then beckoned Bianca to sit down at his side. Then he pulled her head gently and whispered into her ear.

"Do you have a pad? I totally forgot that," he whispered into her left ear.

"I do, but it is under the bridge."

"What?" Joe exclaimed, with an utmost twinge of surprise.

"Yeah, I do." Bianca chortled, opening up the pizza.

"Hmm," Joe closed up his mouth and opened it again, "How soon will you see your cycle?"

"In two weeks from now," Bianca mumbled, eating up the pizza.

"Okay, that is too far." Joe uttered, "Just leave everything under the bridge; don't ever go there with the mindset that you want to stay or live there again, all that era has gone. Even though a spirit comes up within me that I should detest you and then order you to leave, which I know I will never do, if I do. You would be leaving, or should I say you must leave here with a car of your own and a sum of a thousand dollars?"

Joe stopped for a while and assessed if his emotions were getting the better of him. He wasn't quite sure whether it was his temperament or his emotions. He stared at Bianca, who by the way was munching up the pizza with relative ease. Not quite sure if Bianca was listening again, he tried to get her attention back again by asking questions.

"What about your parents? Do they live there?" Joe inquired.

"My parents?" Bianca stopped eating all of a sudden. Tears dripped from her eyes. She never wanted someone to bring back memories of her past. This was a past that she would never smile at or laugh at when she remembered it. She could starve a whole day if reminded. Joe felt slightly hurt seeing her tears and tried consoling her by baby feeding her; he took part of the pizza in his hand and tried putting it in her mouth, but she rejected it. All his efforts at spoon-feeding her were to no avail. He dropped the pizza back and dragged her face to his chest in a way of consoling her. But she kept on crying. After much pleading, she stopped crying, lifting her face above his chest.

"I would tell you." Finally, she spoke out, "But promise me you will never remind me again."

"I promise," said Joe.

"Okay," retorted Bianca with a husky voice.