“Mama, do you think there is luxury in Heaven?” Fiona looked up from her mom and dad’s bed, curled up in the warmth of the laundry pile that had just come from the dryer. It was a chill winter morning, and she’d raced upstairs to her parents’ room the minute she was up. The master bedroom wasn’t completed yet. The window frame was boarded up, and the walls were unpainted. There were blankets on the plywood floor to keep feet from catching splinters. Still, it was a couple of degrees warmer upstairs.
As her mom folded her dad’s white t-shirt, laying it across the foot of the bed and smoothing out the wrinkles, she smiled. “I suppose there is nothing but luxury in Heaven. Why?”
Seven-year-old Fiona rolled in the warm, soft fabrics fresh from the dryer. “Because I love luxury,” she said, burying her arms beneath a pile of clean socks and underclothes. “Mama, I think this is the most luxurious place on earth!”
“What? Sitting on underwear?”
Fiona giggled and sat up. “No. I mean, being in your big bed in this new room with all these warm clothes and… and being with you!”
Fiona’s mother placed another folded t-shirt on the stack, came around the bed, and scooped up her little daughter into her arms. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she cuddled Fiona and kissed her.
Fiona wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck and kissed her back. “Isn’t it luxurious, Mama?” she whispered, the heat of her breath against her mom’s cheek.
Mama looked down at her Fiona, looked into her trusting, dark eyes, and answered, “It is, baby.”
Rilla Writer 