Chris was in Barbara’s arms, the warmth of the other woman’s embrace like cashmere against her skin, the subtle musk of Barbara’s perfume dancing around her head like fairy dust. Chris closed her eyes, buried her head against Barbara’s neck, inhaled the wondrous scent.
“Is everything okay?” Barbara whispered, squeezing Chris tightly.
An involuntary cry, half-squeal, half-sigh, escaped Chris’s lips, and she pulled back, away from Barbara’s arms.
“What’s the matter?”
“Apparently you don’t know your own strength, Barbie doll,” Tony said, laughing, joining the two women on the stairs, putting his arm around his wife, leading her gingerly down the stairs and into the front hall where Susan and Vicki were waiting. “Chris is a little bruised up. She told you about falling down the stairs last week, didn’t she?”
“What?” Susan.
“You fell down the stairs?” Vicki.
“My God, are you okay?” Barbara.
“It was just the last two steps,” Chris assured them. “And, yes, I’m fine. Can’t say the same for Wyatt’s train, I’m afraid, which I pretty much destroyed when I landed.” She tried to laugh, but the painful throbbing at her ribs cut the laugh short.
“Let’s see.” Barbara was instantly at Chris’s side, lifting up the bottom of her T-shirt, her fingers gentlygrazing the large, round, mustard-colored stain on Chris’s left side.
“Whoa, girl,” Tony said. “Anything going on with you two I should know about?”
“That’s a pretty nasty-looking bruise,” Vicki said.
“Maybe Owen should have a look at it,” Susan offered.
“I’m fine,” Chris protested. “Really. It’s nothing.”
“Mommy fell down the stairs and squished Wyatt’s train,” Montana announced, entering the hall from the kitchen.
“So we hear,” said Vicki. “That wasn’t very smart of her, was it?”
“She’s always falling down,” Montana said matter-of-factly.
“Maybe if you and your brother would pick up your toys occasionally …” Tony said.
Montana frowned, grabbed her mother’s fingers, started tugging on her arm. “Come on, Mommy. You said we’d make cookies.”
“Why don’t you get your daddy to help you make cookies?” Susan suggested.
“Yeah, we’re gonna take your mommy out with us for a little while,” Vicki said.
“No!” Montana protested.
“Don’t frown,” Barbara warned. “You’ll get wrinkles.”
“I can’t go,” Chris said, as Montana continued pulling on her fingers. “Wyatt’ll be up any minute, and I promised Montana …”
“I can look after the kids,” Tony offered. “Go on,hon. You haven’t been out of the house in weeks.”
“No!” Montana said again, her delicate features crowding together in the middle of her tiny face as her long blond hair whipped from cheek to cheek with each stubborn shake of her head. “She said we’d make cookies.”
Tony immediately scooped his daughter into his arms. “What’s the matter, kiddo? You don’t think your daddy knows how to make chocolate chip cookies? I’ll have you know I’m an expert on chocolate chip cookies. In fact, I make much better cookies than your mommy. Didn’t you know that the best chefs in the world are men?”
Montana wiggled out of her father’s arms, glared at her mother. “I don’t like you anymore. You’re not a good mommy.”
“Montana …”
“It’s okay, Chris,” Tony said, as Montana ran back into the kitchen. “She’ll get over it. You go with your friends.”
“You’ll be a good mommy later.” Vicki quickly guided Chris toward the front door.
“Really, I shouldn’t …”
“We’ll have her back in time for dinner.” Susan opened the door, pushed Chris outside.
“Where are we going?” Chris asked, taking a deep breath, sucking in the warm September air. She raised her face to the sun, closed her eyes, felt the sun sear into her cheek like a hot iron. Had it left a mark? she wondered, lowering her head, looking back
“Is everything okay?” Barbara whispered, squeezing Chris tightly.
An involuntary cry, half-squeal, half-sigh, escaped Chris’s lips, and she pulled back, away from Barbara’s arms.
“What’s the matter?”
“Apparently you don’t know your own strength, Barbie doll,” Tony said, laughing, joining the two women on the stairs, putting his arm around his wife, leading her gingerly down the stairs and into the front hall where Susan and Vicki were waiting. “Chris is a little bruised up. She told you about falling down the stairs last week, didn’t she?”
“What?” Susan.
“You fell down the stairs?” Vicki.
“My God, are you okay?” Barbara.
“It was just the last two steps,” Chris assured them. “And, yes, I’m fine. Can’t say the same for Wyatt’s train, I’m afraid, which I pretty much destroyed when I landed.” She tried to laugh, but the painful throbbing at her ribs cut the laugh short.
“Let’s see.” Barbara was instantly at Chris’s side, lifting up the bottom of her T-shirt, her fingers gentlygrazing the large, round, mustard-colored stain on Chris’s left side.
“Whoa, girl,” Tony said. “Anything going on with you two I should know about?”
“That’s a pretty nasty-looking bruise,” Vicki said.
“Maybe Owen should have a look at it,” Susan offered.
“I’m fine,” Chris protested. “Really. It’s nothing.”
“Mommy fell down the stairs and squished Wyatt’s train,” Montana announced, entering the hall from the kitchen.
“So we hear,” said Vicki. “That wasn’t very smart of her, was it?”
“She’s always falling down,” Montana said matter-of-factly.
“Maybe if you and your brother would pick up your toys occasionally …” Tony said.
Montana frowned, grabbed her mother’s fingers, started tugging on her arm. “Come on, Mommy. You said we’d make cookies.”
“Why don’t you get your daddy to help you make cookies?” Susan suggested.
“Yeah, we’re gonna take your mommy out with us for a little while,” Vicki said.
“No!” Montana protested.
“Don’t frown,” Barbara warned. “You’ll get wrinkles.”
“I can’t go,” Chris said, as Montana continued pulling on her fingers. “Wyatt’ll be up any minute, and I promised Montana …”
“I can look after the kids,” Tony offered. “Go on,hon. You haven’t been out of the house in weeks.”
“No!” Montana said again, her delicate features crowding together in the middle of her tiny face as her long blond hair whipped from cheek to cheek with each stubborn shake of her head. “She said we’d make cookies.”
Tony immediately scooped his daughter into his arms. “What’s the matter, kiddo? You don’t think your daddy knows how to make chocolate chip cookies? I’ll have you know I’m an expert on chocolate chip cookies. In fact, I make much better cookies than your mommy. Didn’t you know that the best chefs in the world are men?”
Montana wiggled out of her father’s arms, glared at her mother. “I don’t like you anymore. You’re not a good mommy.”
“Montana …”
“It’s okay, Chris,” Tony said, as Montana ran back into the kitchen. “She’ll get over it. You go with your friends.”
“You’ll be a good mommy later.” Vicki quickly guided Chris toward the front door.
“Really, I shouldn’t …”
“We’ll have her back in time for dinner.” Susan opened the door, pushed Chris outside.
“Where are we going?” Chris asked, taking a deep breath, sucking in the warm September air. She raised her face to the sun, closed her eyes, felt the sun sear into her cheek like a hot iron. Had it left a mark? she wondered, lowering her head, looking back
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