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Luke shut right up. He looked plenty scared.
Good.
"Don't touch the baby unless I ask you to," I said. I thought I was making a simple declarative sentence, but possibly Luke was good at interpreting voice tone. He dropped the scissors. I picked them up and shoved them in my sweatpants pocket where I could be certain he wouldn't reclaim them.
I picked up the infant seat and took Jane into the kitchen with me to set out the children's meal. Lou had left ca
The kids ran in and scooted into chairs the minute I called them, even Luke. Without prompting, they all bowed their heads and said the "God is great" prayer in unison. I was caught flat-footed, halfway to the refrigerator to put the milk carton away.
The next fifty minutes were ... trying.
I understand that close to Christmas children get excited. I realize that children in packs are more excitable than children separately. I have heard that having a sitter instead of parental supervision causes kids to push their limits, or rather, their sitter's. But I had to take several deep breaths as the kids rampaged through their supper. I perched on a stool, baby Jane in her infant seat on the kitchen counter beside me. Jane, at least, was asleep. A sleeping baby is a near-perfect thing.
As I wiped up slopped tomato sauce, put more sliced apples into Luke's bowl, stopped Krista from poking A
Of course, her mother had just died.
So I kept a wary eye on Eve.
Far from pla
Krista took care of the problem for me.
Reaching for the crackers I'd set in the center of the table, she knocked over her milk, which cascaded off the table into A
"Do you have a change of pants here?" I asked.
"Yes ma'am," said a subdued A
"Krista, you wipe up the milk with this towel while I take A
I picked up the baby in her infant seat and carried her with me down the hall, trying not to jostle her from her sleep. A
I could tell that A
I had to lean against the wall. A wave of relief almost bowled me over. A
I had something to be thankful for, after all.
I picked up the wet clothes, and A
I was about to pick up Jane when Eve came in. She stood, her arms behind her back, looking at her shoes. Something about the way she was standing put me on full alert.
"Miss Lily, you remember that day you came to our house and cleaned up?" she asked, as though it had been weeks before.
I stood stock still. I saw myself opening the box on the shelf....
"Wait," I told her. "I want to talk to you. Wait just one moment."
The nearest telephone, and the one that was the most private, was the one in the master bedroom across the hall.
I looked through the phone book, found the number of Jack's motel. Please let him be there, please let him be there...
Mr. Patel co
"Jack, open your briefcase," I said.
Some assorted sounds over the other end.
"OK, it's done."
"The picture of the baby."
"Summer Dawn? The one that was in the paper?"
"Yes, that one. What is the baby wearing?"
"One of those one-piece things."
"Jack, what does it look like?"
"Ah, long arms and legs, snaps ..."
"What is the pattern?"
"Oh. Little animals, looks like."
I took a deep, deep breath. "Jack, what kind of animal?"
"Giraffes," he said, after a long, analytical pause.
"Oh God," I said, scarcely conscious of what I was saying.
Eve came into the bedroom. She had picked up the baby and brought her with her. I looked at her white face, and I am sure I looked as stricken as I felt.
"Miss Lily," she said, and her voice was limp and a little sad. "My dad's at the door. He came to get us."
"He's here," I said into the phone and hung up.
I got on my knees in front of Eve. "What were you going to tell me?" I asked. "I was wrong to go use the phone when you were waiting to talk to me. Tell me now."
My intensity was making her nervous, I could see, but it wasn't something I could turn off. At least she knew I was taking her seriously.
"He's here now, it's ... I have to go home."
"No, you need to tell me." I said it as gently as I could, but firmly.
"You're strong," she said slowly. Her eyes couldn't meet mine. "My dad said my mom was weak. But you're not."
"I'm strong." I said it flatly, with as much assurance as I could pack into a statement.
"Maybe... you could tell him me and Jane need to spend the night here, like we were supposed to? So he won't take us home?"
She'd intended to tell me something else.
I wondered how much time I had before Emory came to find out what was keeping us.
"Why don't you want to go home?" I asked, as if we had all the time in the world.
"Maybe if he really wanted me to come, Jane could stay here with you?" Eve asked, and suddenly tears were trembling in her eyes. "She's so little."
"He won't get her."
Eve looked almost giddy with relief.
"You don't want to go," I said.
"Please, no," she whispered.
"Then he won't get you."
Telling a father he couldn't have his kids was not going to go over well. I hoped Jack had found something, or Emory would make that one wrong move.
He'd have to. He'd have to be provoked.
Time to take my gloves off.
"Stay here," I told Eve. "This may get kind of awful, but I'm not letting anyone take you and Jane out of this house."
Eve suddenly looked frightened by what she had unleashed, realizing on some level that the monster was out of the closet now, and nothing would make it go back in. She had taken her life, and her sister's, in her own hands at the ripe old age of eight. I am sure she was wishing she could take back her words, her appeal.
"It's out of your hands now," I said. "This is grown-up stuff."
She looked relieved, and then she did something that sent shivers down my back: She picked up the baby in her carrier and took her to a corner of the bedroom, pulling out the straight-backed chair that blocked it, crouching down behind it with the baby beside her.