Page 10 of The Baby-whisperer and the Brute
While Mother had bought me tiny nun’s habits and a miniature kneeling bench for my bedroom, I had longed for baby dolls and tiny versions of bassinets, and feeding chairs, and those magical little bottles that seemed to empty or fill with milk, depending on which way you tipped them.
When I’d looked at the numerous paintings of Madonna and child that adorned the walls of our home, rather than feeling the proper amount of reverence or any sort of inspiration to full-time religious service, my first thought had been how adorable the baby was and how lovely it would be to have one of my very own one day.
Mother had been quick to quash any such talk, informing me that babies weren’t all they were cracked up to be and reminding me of the binding vow she’d made to God regarding my future vocation.
“Thank you,” I said to Cinda. “But my course in life is set. Maybe after my postulancy and novitiate period are complete, and I’m initiated, I’ll be assigned to a parochial school somewhere. Iamsad I won’t get to meet the next crop of little ones coming into the preschool in the fall.”
“I just hope you get to meetthislittle bundle before you go away.” Cinda patted her rounded belly. “I may look as big as a house on Oceanview, but I’ve still got almost two months to go.”
“Maybe it’s twins?” I said.
Cinda gave me a mischievous smile. “You never know. Be sure you’re around in about an hour when we make the big announcement.”
I covered my open mouth with one hand and gasped.
Before I could say more, my attention was diverted by a flash of pink in a very unexpected place.
There was a narrow gap in the continuous green line of the twenty-foot-tall boxwood hedge separating the Wessex estate from the neighboring one, and through it slipped a little girl. Followed by another, smaller one.
Both of them wore long pink nightgowns and had bare feet. Their identical curly dark hair was wild, as if they’d just gotten out of bed.
Maybe their mother had put them down for afternoon naps, and they’d slipped out of the house without anyone realizing they’d awakened?
They reminded me a bit of Dr. Seuss’s Thing One and Thing Two as they charged up to the refreshment table, both grabbing a cupcake in each hand.
My instinct was to move toward them, find out if their parents were right behind them or if they perhaps needed to be returned to their home, but beside me, Cinda laughed, clearly delighted to see them there.
“Well hello little neighbors. Looks like Mr. Reece’s daughters have decided to skip the front door in favor of a more Alice in Wonderland style of entry.”
I turned to her. “Sullivan Reece? The boxer? Those are his girls?”
“I believe so. They look like the pictures he showed us, and thatishis yard from which they emerged in such a creative way.”
My nervous system went on high alert. I turned to look at the back doors of the Wessex mansion, anticipating the arrival of Sullivan Reece, who’d no doubt come through them at any moment.
Could I possibly excuse myself? Say I needed to go home and check on my mother?
If my suspicions were correct, and my jogger—as I’d come to think of the tall, wide-chested man—and Sullivan Reece the boxer were one and the same person, I didnotwant to make his acquaintance.
My reaction to the man from a distance was bad enough. I hated to think what might happen if I were to encounter him up close.
I hadn’t seen him on the Bluff Walk at all this week and had wondered what had happened to him. Apparently his daughters had happened.
“Oh, there he is,” Cinda said, shading her eyes as she gazed toward the far end of the lawn.
Appearing from around the end of the tall privacy hedge, a man jogged in our direction. The serene backdrop of blue ocean and bluer skies behind him was a sharp contrast to the stormy expression he wore.
His face was red, and his head moved as if on a swivel as he scanned the large property.
The man was wearing a nice pair of pants and a dress shirt, which was coming untucked as he ran. But I most definitely recognized him.
Itwasmy jogger. And he was headed directly toward us.
He’d spotted the girls, who were now standing just outside the pony ride ring, trying to interest the animal inside in some frosted baked goods.
“He looks like a brute, but he’s so nice,” Cinda said. “Seems a bit overwhelmed by the girls though.” She chuckled before adding, “They look like they could keep anyone on their toes.”
“Alex,” Cinda called to her husband who stood nearby talking with two other fathers from the preschool. “Sullivan is here.”
