about that house, Claire?”
“We bought it, because of the third bedroom,” Claire said.
She remembered that they’d planned to turn the extra room into a nursery. She’d been pregnant when Charlie had taken an offer from the University of Washington. At last, they had some money, which promptly went into the new home. It was one of the happiest times in Claire’s life. She painted the nursery walls: a cartoon jungle with friendly tigers, giraffes, Curious George–inspired monkeys, and smiling elephants.
When Julia Maye Ferguson was born, three different sororities from the university sent flowers. Mrs. Donovan flew in and stayed for a week, helping with Julia. She’d been a considerate—though slightly distant—grandmother to Brian, but she simply adored the new baby. Claire’s mother had always been rather critical of her. But with Julie it seemed Claire had at last done something right as far as her mother was concerned.
Charlie, who had been working practically around the clock when Brian was a baby, made up for lost time with his new daughter. At night, Claire often found him waltzing around the nursery with Julia in his arms. The cartoon jungle creatures on the walls seemed to smile at them, while Charlie softly sang “The Lion Sleeps Tonight.”
Like any only child who suddenly has to share the spotlight, six-year-old Brian was slightly jealous, but very much in awe of his little sister. Claire and Charlie did their best to make sure he didn’t feel neglected. Brian worked toward the same goal. He found all sorts of ways to demand their attention. If he wasn’t suddenly throwing his arms around his mother or father—and not letting go—he was getting into trouble.
One afternoon, Claire was lulling Julia to sleep. It took several choruses of “The Lion Sleeps Tonight,” and one too many “a-whimbo-whack-a-whimbo-whacks” before the baby finally succumbed. Brian was back from kindergarten, snacking in front of the small TV in their breakfast nook. Claire hoped to grab a short nap on the sofa. She was just nodding off when she heard a shriek from the kitchen. She could tell, it wasn’t the TV.
She sprang from the couch and raced toward the kitchen. Reaching the doorway, Claire stopped dead and let out a scream.
Brian lay sprawled on the tiled floor. His golden hair was matted down, soaked with blood from his forehead. His eyes were open, and he stared back at her. For a moment, Claire thought he was dead. “Oh, My God!” she cried.
Then Brian started to giggle.
She realized the “blood” was ketchup. The half-empty bottle was still on the counter. Brian began laughing so hard that he curled up on the floor.
“Oh, real funny!” she hissed, a hand still over her heart. “You almost scared me to death! I’m not amused, no sir…”
But Claire cracked a smile. Brian brushed at the ketchup on his forehead and licked his fingertips. “I want french fries with this!” he loudly declared, rolling on the floor.
Past Brian’s dizzy laughter—which, by now, was a bit forced—Claire thought she heard Julia crying up in the nursery.
“Hey, hey,” Claire whispered. “All this screaming, if you woke up your little sister, you’ll wish you really were dead. I mean it now, simmer down. Clean yourself up and put what’s left of the ketchup back in the fridge.”
Claire wondered if it was too much to wish for a measly twenty-minute nap. She went to the foot of the stairs and listened for a moment. She didn’t hear a peep, but went upstairs to check anyway.
She crept toward the nursery door. Still, not a sound—except the TV downstairs, and Brian running the water in the kitchen sink. Claire tiptoed to the crib and gazed down at her daughter. She felt a sickly pang in her stomach. She’s not breathing.
For a moment, Claire told herself she was being silly. How many times in the last three weeks did she go through this panic, this same false alarm? There was nothing wrong, there
“We bought it, because of the third bedroom,” Claire said.
She remembered that they’d planned to turn the extra room into a nursery. She’d been pregnant when Charlie had taken an offer from the University of Washington. At last, they had some money, which promptly went into the new home. It was one of the happiest times in Claire’s life. She painted the nursery walls: a cartoon jungle with friendly tigers, giraffes, Curious George–inspired monkeys, and smiling elephants.
When Julia Maye Ferguson was born, three different sororities from the university sent flowers. Mrs. Donovan flew in and stayed for a week, helping with Julia. She’d been a considerate—though slightly distant—grandmother to Brian, but she simply adored the new baby. Claire’s mother had always been rather critical of her. But with Julie it seemed Claire had at last done something right as far as her mother was concerned.
Charlie, who had been working practically around the clock when Brian was a baby, made up for lost time with his new daughter. At night, Claire often found him waltzing around the nursery with Julia in his arms. The cartoon jungle creatures on the walls seemed to smile at them, while Charlie softly sang “The Lion Sleeps Tonight.”
Like any only child who suddenly has to share the spotlight, six-year-old Brian was slightly jealous, but very much in awe of his little sister. Claire and Charlie did their best to make sure he didn’t feel neglected. Brian worked toward the same goal. He found all sorts of ways to demand their attention. If he wasn’t suddenly throwing his arms around his mother or father—and not letting go—he was getting into trouble.
One afternoon, Claire was lulling Julia to sleep. It took several choruses of “The Lion Sleeps Tonight,” and one too many “a-whimbo-whack-a-whimbo-whacks” before the baby finally succumbed. Brian was back from kindergarten, snacking in front of the small TV in their breakfast nook. Claire hoped to grab a short nap on the sofa. She was just nodding off when she heard a shriek from the kitchen. She could tell, it wasn’t the TV.
She sprang from the couch and raced toward the kitchen. Reaching the doorway, Claire stopped dead and let out a scream.
Brian lay sprawled on the tiled floor. His golden hair was matted down, soaked with blood from his forehead. His eyes were open, and he stared back at her. For a moment, Claire thought he was dead. “Oh, My God!” she cried.
Then Brian started to giggle.
She realized the “blood” was ketchup. The half-empty bottle was still on the counter. Brian began laughing so hard that he curled up on the floor.
“Oh, real funny!” she hissed, a hand still over her heart. “You almost scared me to death! I’m not amused, no sir…”
But Claire cracked a smile. Brian brushed at the ketchup on his forehead and licked his fingertips. “I want french fries with this!” he loudly declared, rolling on the floor.
Past Brian’s dizzy laughter—which, by now, was a bit forced—Claire thought she heard Julia crying up in the nursery.
“Hey, hey,” Claire whispered. “All this screaming, if you woke up your little sister, you’ll wish you really were dead. I mean it now, simmer down. Clean yourself up and put what’s left of the ketchup back in the fridge.”
Claire wondered if it was too much to wish for a measly twenty-minute nap. She went to the foot of the stairs and listened for a moment. She didn’t hear a peep, but went upstairs to check anyway.
She crept toward the nursery door. Still, not a sound—except the TV downstairs, and Brian running the water in the kitchen sink. Claire tiptoed to the crib and gazed down at her daughter. She felt a sickly pang in her stomach. She’s not breathing.
For a moment, Claire told herself she was being silly. How many times in the last three weeks did she go through this panic, this same false alarm? There was nothing wrong, there
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