Where the Heart Is

She peers around the corner. She sees me and her face lights up. She squeals my name as she runs toward me. She crawls into my lap without hesitation. She opens her clasped hands to reveal an old broken keychain—a small purple heart with the words Las Vegas written in faded cursive across the front. She pushes the purple heart into the palm of my hand. She is so serious I nearly forget she’s only a child. She leans in, lips to my ear, “be careful,” she whispers, “don’t lose it.” “I won’t,” I shake my head and wrap my hand around it tightly, “ I won’t.” She smiles, satisfied at my two word response. She takes my free hand with hers and pulls my arm around her little body. She settles into me. She sighs. And she falls asleep: heart safe in my hand, head heavy on my chest, rocked by the beat of my breath. How could anything else matter?