"This dress is absolutely delightful, Tiffany; Max is going to love it," Anna says, inspecting the delicate pink dress in front of her. "Are these forget-me-nots on the hem?" she asks, handing the clothing to Tiffany.
"They are!" She exclaims excitedly. "Cheryl sent us one in blue, and I couldn't place why they looked so familiar. She insisted they were red roses when I thanked her on the phone and accused me of having baby brain when I said they weren't." Tiffany tells Anna reaching out to run her hand over the flowers. "But they are forget-me-nots. That was sweet of her to include them, although I have no idea why she chose blue instead of white or pink. Sean ordered this one for Maxie for her christening."
"Max, honey. Her full name is Mariah Maxmilliana Jones. She's named after her great-grandparents. And maybe our baby will be named after mine or your great-grandparents. Or even you?" Sean suggests.
"Oh no, I don't think Ida or Ethel go very well with Donely. Maybe James. But most definitely not Elsie."
"Yes, but I am very fond of Elsie." He kisses her on the cheek.
"I know you are darling, But 'Elsie Mae' wasn't a movie star name. And Tiffany was. And I won't hear any more discussion on why I don't use my real name."
"I love your real name Tiffany, it would be lovely if you did use it or even James. Then we'd have a Max and a James running all over Port Charles." Anna says.
"Well, we will have to think about it but you should hear Sean talk, you'd think he's the one being christened," Tiffany says leaning into his side and grinning.
"Oh come on honey, it's a big deal for me. I'm about to become a godfather again."
"I know…" she replies.
"You are going to have so much practice for your own baby," Anna says before continuing. "Have you bought anything for yourselves yet?"
"No we haven't but I've gotten a few more gifts from Cheryl. She and Shep have been traveling up and down the east coast for the past few weeks and I swear her gifts keep getting stranger and stranger. First the blue baby dress, and then a golden colored blanket, and the note she sent with it. What did it say again Sean," she inquires but doesn't get a response.
"Oh, I remember now. Sweet babe, a golden cradle holds thee…And soft, the snow-white fleece enfolds thee. Strange right?" she asks both of them. Sean doesn't say anything but eyes Anna before she can reply and say that the saying is from an old Irish lullaby about Fae children. He's trying to hide the anxiety that has been increasing with each gift coming to the penthouse. He's unsure how long he can hide it before Tiffany figures out something is going on, and that maybe Cheryl isn't the one sending the gifts.
"No stranger than some of our English nursery rhymes." Anna replies.
"You are right. If you two would excuse me," Tiffany goes to stand. "I'm going to see if Tony needs help in the kitchen."
"Honey, try not to eat all his garlic bread before the rest of us," Sean says to her, retreating back. He turns around to face Anna; he can see by her expression that she wants to say more on the matter but beats her to it.
"I think we have a problem." He puts it plainly. He's been working nearly daily to track down where the baby gifts came from. His WBS contacts have only been able to tell him the manufacturers of the dress and the blanket but have yet to find out who has been sending them.
"I think you do, so the question is who is sending Tiffany these gifts and is there any clear danger that she may be in?" Anna asks.
"From what I've been able to find out, the dress and the blanket were special orders from a baby boutique in New York City. The embroidery was done in-house. But they were unable to pinpoint where the order came from. Both items arrived in Port Charles on October 29th. A few days after Shep announced Tiffany's pregnancy to the public. We got the first one on the 31st, the second, a silver spoon on November 6th and the blanket last night." He pauses as Anna gets a tiny notebook and pen out of her purse before continuing.
"All of the notes with the exception of the first have been lines from various lullabies none with American roots. And that's all I know." He finishes watching Anna write something down in her notebook. She looks up at him.
"And Tiffany doesn't know you've been looking into this?" He shakes his head in the negative. He knew Tiffany was worried about Cheryl and didn't want to alarm her that anything might be amiss at home. Using the christening as a cover to investigate the mysterious gifts without her knowledge. He's getting exhausted from having to constantly lie to her about it.
"You know, your poker face isn't going to last forever. Sean, Let me help you with this. Take some stress off so you can enjoy this pregnancy with Tiffany. She mentioned that her 20-week anatomy scan is on Friday, and I know you will want to be there…." She trails off, and Sean swears he can see the cogs turning in her head.
"Meet me at the PI office tomorrow after Max's christening and I'll take a look at the gifts and notes. A fresh pair of eyes might see things a little differently. In the meantime go and enjoy dinner with your beautiful wife. I'm going to go home to see Robin and then do some research of my own." Anna states before gathering her coat.
"Everything is going to be ok, Sean," she says, leaving the brownstone.
Sean wishes that he could believe her.
"Tiffany, sweetie. I don't know how many times I can apologize for making fun of the ultrasound. It's just that the poor thing looks all squished in there."
"That poor thing is your child Sean, and it's wonderful and has lots of room to stretch and grow. You always, always have to make horrible jokes on joyful days. Don't even, don't even remind me of our wedding day." She rants at him as he trails after her at the news station. He has driven her back to work after her 20-week anatomy scan and has been trying to make amends ever since he said the baby looked like an alien.
"I know. I know. Tell you what, why don't I go down to Kelly's and get us some lunch as a peace offering. Hmm." He waits for her reply as she shifts through the mail on her desk.
"That would be an excellent place to start. And then we can discuss some names. We can't keep letting Robert refer to the baby as the gem whenever he sees me."
"I tried getting him to say peanut the other day, Tiff. But he insisted that the gem sounded better."
"Well, the next time I see him I'll show him how much of a gem I am." She sits down and places her hand on her bump.
"I'm sure you will. I'll get you that strawberry shake and fries you love so much. And then we can talk about anything you want. I love you." Sean says, kissing Tiffany soundly before leaving her to her work. He walks back to the newsroom, telling the stage manager, Keith, that he is going to grab lunch and that he could be reached at Kelly's if Mrs. Donely needed him.
He's standing at the counter waiting for his order to be done when the phone rings. Ruby answers; he sees her frown and then places the receiver against her chest. "Sean, it's the station. They are saying that something is going on with Tiffany." She hands the receiver out to him to take it; he can't bring himself to reach out and take it. Every fiber in his being screams at him to turn and leave; he watches as Ruby places the receiver back to her ear and says something. She asks a few more questions before hanging it back up. She reaches out and takes his hand.
"Sean, that was the stage manager. You need to get over to the station as quickly as possible. Tiffany is ok, just shaken by whatever happened. He also mentioned that Robert was there," she says. He nods in affirmation before calmly leaving the diner.
When he pulls into the station, he notices Robert's car; surprisingly, Anna's is parked there too. He finds both of them with Tiffany at the anchor's desk. Anna is at eye level with Tiffany, calmly talking to her and encouraging her to take a drink of water. Robert is standing there, trying to hold in his fury. He catches Sean's eyes and gestures for him to follow. They go into her office, closing the door behind them to be greeted with a small screen frozen on the image of one Ceasar Faison.
