Saturday, November 15, 1980

"Are you sure you don't need anything, Beth? I don't mind. I'm telling you, Todd's got quite the list of things he wants for Thanksgiving dinner, so it's no trouble at all."

I smiled at Eileen's insistence as I opened the pantry and stepped inside it. Glancing up and down at the shelves, I said, "Well, now that you mention Thanksgiving, I could use a couple of cans of yams, I suppose."

"Yams," Eileen said as she added it to her list then eyed me. "Anything else?"

"Cranberry sauce."

Grace crawled into the pantry, investigating what we were up to. When she reached my feet she touched my ankle and burbled, "AhMa."

"Hey, darlin'!" exclaimed Eileen, bending to pick eight-month-old Grace up. "Aren't you just the most adorable baby ever?"

"'Een," smiled Grace and touched Eileen's cheek. "Hababa wawama 'Een." Then she looked at me again and stretched her arms, leaning out of Eileen's hold. "AhMa."

"Here, come to Mommy," I said as I took her.

"Wawama AhMa." Grace grabbed my neck and bounced her lips against mine in her baby approximation of a kiss.

"Still hasn't mastered that first 'm' yet, huh?" grinned Eileen.

"To Al's insufferable delight."

Eileen laughed merrily and tweaked Grace's chubby leg. "You're a pepper, Gracie, do you know that?"

"That reminds me, I guess I could do with some black pepper. And I do need some baby food for Grace."

"Just tell me the kinds," Eileen said, her pen poised over her list. She jotted down each flavor as I named it.

I did quick mental tally and then went to my purse on the kitchen counter to withdraw enough cash to cover my groceries. Eileen tucked it into her pocket along with the list.

"Thanks, Eileen. I really appreciate it."

"No problem, Beth." She grinned and waved at Grace. "Bye, Gracie."

"Tell Eileen 'Bye-Bye'," I directed, starting Grace's hand in a wave, which she quickly finished on her own.

We walked Eileen to the front door. After she crossed back to her own yard, I closed the door and headed back for the kitchen. Three girls tore past me, almost making me trip, and I let out a reflexive shriek as I tightened my hold on Grace. I must have pinched Grace's leg with my watchband, because she let out a banshee-like cry and started wailing.

Al hurried in after our dual shrieks and skidded to a halt. "What's wrong?" he demanded.

"Nothing," I assured him. "I just got startled, that's all. The twins and Tiffany came racing through."

Grace twisted in my arms and reached for Al, whining, "DaDa! DaDa!"

"Why's this one crying?" he asked as he took her, gently bouncing her in his arms.

I extended my arm to show him the elastic metal watchband. "I think I pinched her leg."

"Aw, poor Gracie," soothed Al as he massaged her thighs. He kissed her on the cheek and her crying gradually slowed. "Wanna come watch football with Daddy?"

"Fu ba DaDa."

He chuckled. "Close enough." He walked into the living room and I heard him call out, "Hey, slow it down!" Moments later, Bridget, Michele, and their friend Tiffany scurried past me to run upstairs. I shook my head and returned to the kitchen to finish cleaning it up.

I was just making a final swipe on the counter with the sponge when Theresa came in, sniffling and rubbing her nose against her sleeve.

"Honey, don't do that!" I exclaimed, and took hold of her arm, simultaneously handing her a Kleenex from the box on the windowsill.

She sullenly wiped her nose with the tissue and began to cry again.

"Come here, Resa," I said as I bent to pick her up. "What's the matter, baby?"

"They not play wif me."

"Who won't?"

"Bree and Sheli. I wanna play Barbies too. They not play wif me!"

I carried her to the table in the breakfast nook and sat down, hugging her close. "Bree and Sheli have company over," I explained. "Tiffany is their age and they're playing with her right now."

"I wanna play too! And Tiff-er-nee told 'em to close the door!"

"Oh, she did?" I cast a look up at the ceiling. This was the first time we'd had their new friend Tiffany over for a playdate, and so far the child was getting on my nerves.

Theresa's tears swelled and she sobbed, "No one play wif me!"

After a moment's frantic thought, I suggested, "Tell you what? Why don't you put a sweater on and you can go play catch with Star in the backyard."

"Just me?" She looked dubious.

"Sure." I leaned back to part the curtains and tried to convince her. "Star looks lonely. I think he'd be happy to play with just you."

Theresa got up and peered out the window. Star was sitting and scratching his ear and I crossed my fingers that Theresa would accept my interpretation of his actions. Fortunately, he caught sight of her and dashed over, rising to his hind legs and resting his paws on the brick below the window.

"See?"

She turned and beamed at me. "Okay, I play!"

"Come on then, baby girl, let's wash your face and then get a sweater on."

I held another tissue for her and directed her to blow, then dampened a dishcloth and wiped her face down. Once those ministrations were done, we walked to the hall closet and I took her small sweater off its hanger and helped her into it. As soon as we got it buttoned, she grinned and ran outside, calling, "Star! I here to play wif you!"

Smiling, I watched her from the kitchen window for a few moments and then headed into the living room. Al was relaxing in the recliner holding Grace, who had fallen asleep on his chest. His attention was on the game, but he looked up and grinned as I came in.

"Do you want me to take her?" I asked.

"No, she's fine," he said, stroking her back.

I smiled and sat on the couch. I picked up a magazine and began flipping through it, glancing at the screen when Al would let out a soft cheer or groan, depending upon how the action went. After a major mistake by the college team he was rooting for, Al growled a loud, "I don't believe that!" and then followed it with a quick, "Uh oh."

Grace whimpered and shifted on his chest, lifting her head and squinching her face. Al had been looking down at her and started laughing at the sight of her crumpled expression. She glared at him through half-closed eyes and deliberately thumped herself back down against his chest. She fussily shifted her head back and forth and then pressed her fist against her lips and began sucking her knuckles until she fell asleep again.

"I guess she told you!" I chuckled as Al and I exchanged amused looks. "Are you sure you don't want me to take her? You know you're only going to wake her up again."

"Yeah, if they keep playing this way," he snorted in agreement. He lightly fondled her cheeks then moved his arms out of the way as I lifted her off of him, tucking her close to me before taking my seat on the couch. As I sat, Grace shifted toward me and snuggled in.

The heavy thump of running footsteps sounded overhead, followed by the girls thudding their way down the stairs. They ran through the foyer to the kitchen, and Al yelled over their noise, "Quit running in the house, girls!"

They didn't slow down, and a slamming of the side door leading to the patio and the backyard beyond was their final response. Al rolled his eyes and looked over at me.

"They don't run in the house like this all the time, do they?"

"Of course not!" I lowered my voice at the last instant when Grace moaned in her sleep. "They're showing off for Tiffany."

"Or copying her."

There was that, it couldn't be denied. The more I thought about it the more I agreed with him. Especially when Theresa dashed inside, once more in tears. At the sound of her running footsteps, Al assumed it was the twins and Tiffany, and he didn't hide the annoyance in his tone when he hollered, "I said quit running!"

Theresa stopped at the threshold of the room and her eyes widened. Moments later her lower lip increased its trembling and she dropped to sit huddled against the woodwork, burying her face in her knees as her tears intensified into full blown sobs. Al turned in his chair and his face fell when he saw her. One swift yank of the lever had the chair back to its upright position and he jumped out of it.

Al knelt before Theresa and cupped his hand over the crown of her head. "Oh, Resa, honey, I didn't know it was you. I thought it was the twins and their friend running in the house again." He looked over at me, regret in his eyes.

I got up and carried Grace to the playpen in the corner, easing her down and then coming to join him beside Theresa. "I thought you were playing with Star," I said. "What happened?"

She lifted her head and looked from me to Al and back again. "Tiff-er-nee tooked the ball away and her said I too little to play wif Star! Her … her …" Whatever Tiffany had done was more than Theresa could take or express and she was overwhelmed by her sobs.

Al scooped Theresa into his arms and kissed her forehead. "All right, baby, it's all right."

"No," insisted Theresa. "They no play wif me! Tiff-er-nee said I too little to play wif!"

"Why do you want to play with that little brat anyway?" Al said, not quite under his breath.

"Albert!"

"Well, honestly, Beth. She's been a little tyrant all afternoon. 'I don't eat crusts on my bread.' 'At MY house we eat in the living room.' 'MY Mommy lets me' do apparently whatever the hell she wants!"

"She's only four years old."

"And spoiled rotten."

Theresa interrupted us as she complained, "I want play wif Bree and Sheli! I too little!"

"You're not too little, Theresa. You go tell the twins that I said you're all to play together," declared Al. He kissed her cheeks again and tucked her long hair behind her ears.

I shook my head. "That's not going to work, Al. They're not going to listen to her."

"Fine," he said. Easing Theresa off his lap, Al got to his feet and took her by the hand. "I'll tell them myself. Come on, Theresa."

She hung back and shook her head. "No, Daddy. I don't want play with Tiff-er-nee!"

Al let out a sigh so I stepped in. "What do you want, Resa?"

Frustrated, she started crying again. "I want Tiff-er-nee go home!"

"That makes two of us," Al muttered.

Three of us, I thought but didn't dare give voice to it. The last thing I needed to do right now was egg Al on. Instead, I picked Theresa up and hugged her.

"Shhh, stop crying, honey," I said, kissing her. "It's going to be okay."

"Tiff-er-nee not nice! I want her go home!"

"She will. Her mommy's coming to get her later on." I brushed another kiss on her forehead, and then gently admonished, "I know you're upset, honey, but Tiffany's company."

Theresa stuck her lower lip out and looked to Al for support. He was ready to give it. Giving me a dirty look, he said, "Since you're not going to do anything, I'm going to go have a talk with those girls." He turned and purposefully strode through the kitchen to the side door, glanced back once to see if I was going to stop him, and then headed outside.

I stifled an exasperated sigh and tried once again to soothe Theresa's hurt feelings. "How would you like some ice cream?"

She looked surprised by the offer then nodded emphatically, the first hint of a smile appearing on her face. I carried her into the kitchen and got her settled at the breakfast table while I fixed her a small bowl of vanilla ice cream. She accepted my offer of chocolate syrup, and while I squeezed the Hershey's syrup onto the scoops, I glanced out the window to see Al talking with the girls. He looked firm, but his face wasn't angry, though he did gesture widely as he spoke.

Shaking my head, I turned away and brought the ice cream to Theresa. Before I set it in front of her I told her she couldn't have it until I saw a smile. She wiped her eyes and gave me a grin, which expanded when I placed the dish on the table.

"Thank you, Mommy!" she enthused before digging in.

"Slow down or you'll get an ice cream headache," I cautioned her with a laugh.

I was about to turn to look out the window again when Al came inside. He went straight to Theresa and ruffled her hair, smiling to see her looking happy again.

"That's my munchkin," said Al. "You've got some chocolate on your face, baby." He picked up a napkin and dabbed it away.

"Want ice cream, Daddy?" she happily asked him, sliding her bowl toward him.

"Oh, no, honey, thank you." He looked up at me and picked up on the vestiges of my annoyance at the comment he'd made before going outside to talk to the girls. He led the way to the other side of the kitchen so we could talk out of Theresa's hearing.

I raised my eyebrows at him and lifted my chin as I frigidly asked, "How did your little chat go?"

Al rolled his eyes and shook his head. "The twins defended Tiffany and all three protested that she," he indicated Theresa, "was bugging them. Since they went outside and ran her off, I told them that wasn't going to fly."

"And? What did you accomplish?"

"Well I couldn't get them to agree to play," he sheepishly admitted, "but I did get them to agree to quit picking on her."

I couldn't resist the dig. "Not so easy is it, hot shot?"

He rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head. "That's what they'd do to us when we were kids. Give us a lecture and make us get along."

"Us meaning you and Trudy?" I was trying to make a point but I wanted to be gentle in how I did it. "Or us meaning the other boys in the orphanage?"

"You know I meant the other boys!" Al's irritation built and I felt a twinge of guilt at mentioning Trudy.

"And that's my point exactly, honey. It was boys. Girls are different. Besides, just how effective was their attempt at making all of you get along?"

"Well, we knew we'd get a licking if we didn't." He stopped.

"Mm-hmm?" I nodded. "And what about if you got into a fight? Everything was fine afterwards, right? It's not like that with girls, honey. They pair off and they hold grudges. To be honest, I'm surprised she and the twins have been getting along so well today. Anyway, things are bad enough with her bossy ways. I don't want something to start with her and Theresa if she comes over again."

"She won't be coming over again," Al said firmly. "And, all right, I see what you're driving at. You were right."

I smiled and lovingly patted his cheek. "But I will give you marks for getting them to quit picking on Resa."

Star suddenly let out a yelp so loud we heard it inside. We both hurried to the window to see the dog running away from the girls, whimpering incessantly until he reached his doghouse. He darted inside and didn't come back out. Just as we were about to go outside to investigate, the three girls came into the kitchen.

"What happened to Star?" Al and I asked simultaneously.

Tiffany answered, "He doesn't catch good."

"What do you mean?" Al asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

The slim, blonde haired girl shrugged and looked innocently at him through her pink plastic frame glasses. "I threw the ball at him and he didn't catch it."

"Michele," Al said, now turning to the most honest of our children, "why did Star yelp?"

"The ball hit him on the head, Daddy."

"How hard did you throw that ball?" he demanded of Tiffany, an edge to his voice.

"I dunno, Mr. Calavicci."

"Yeah, I'm sure," he muttered.

"Can we have some ice cream, too?" Bridget asked, noticing Theresa's snack.

Before I could answer, Al said, irritated, "No. Only Theresa."

The girls pouted and I was about to override him, but a glance from him silenced me. I blew out a harsh exhale through my nostrils to signal my annoyance and disapproval, but held my peace.

Tiffany seemed to sense the dissension between us, because she instantly turned to me and wheedled, "But, Mrs. Calavicci, why can't we have ice cream, too?"

Al's lips tightened and his brows lowered. The twins knew better than to continue whining for something they wanted when he got that look, but Tiffany either didn't recognize his growing exasperation or didn't care. Somehow I suspected it was the latter.

"Tiffany, I'm the one who said no," Al said with exaggerated patience. "If you have a question about it, I'd appreciate if you talked to me."

She blinked her large blue eyes and faced him. "Mister Calavicci," she enunciated, "why can't we have ice cream, too?"

"Because you weren't nice to Theresa," he said, with a tone and expression that made it clear even to Tiffany that the discussion was at an end.

"Okay," she said dismissively and practically flounced into the living room, the twins on her heels.

"That's it," Al declared. "I've had enough. Let me know when she's gone. I'll be in the garage." He stormed out of the kitchen to the laundry room where the access door to the garage was. Theresa watched him go, wide eyed, and looked uncertainly at me.

"Daddy needs some alone time," I explained, and Theresa seemed to accept that.

Finished with her ice cream, she asked, "Is Star okay?"

"I'm sure he's fine, but we can go check on him if you want."

"Yes, pweese," said Theresa. She halfway wiped at the ice cream stains on her lips and jumped from the chair. She put her hand on the door and turned to make sure I was following her.

I could see the worried expression on her face, and to tell the truth, I was a bit concerned about Star myself. He wasn't a particularly skittish dog, and for him to have made such a beeline for his doghouse, Tiffany had to have done more than just startle him.

As soon as we got outside, Theresa ran for Star's doghouse and squatted in front of it. She tilted her head to the side, trying to peer inside to see the black dog hiding in the shadows.

"Theresa," I cautioned, "if Star doesn't want to come out, you leave him alone, okay?"

Still on her haunches, Theresa twisted so she could see me and nodded. "I not upset Star." Turning back to the opening of the doghouse, Theresa stuck a hand in front of her and coaxed, "Star. Star. Come see, Star. I love you! I not hurt you."

A sound that was half whimper, half yawn came from the dog, and he hesitantly nosed her hand. Theresa giggled when the nosing turned into full out doggy kisses, Star's pink tongue going to town on her hands and arms. She petted and rubbed Star's head, and I was gratified to see that he seemed to have no sensitive spots. Whatever hurt had been inflicted on him was obviously past now.

Star soon wiggled his way out of the doghouse and into Theresa's lap, his tail wagging like mad. He now licked her cheeks, working his way towards cleaning off the remnants of ice cream before I intervened.

"All right, Star, that's enough!" I clapped my hands together and he sat down, cocking his head to the side and giving me a look that seemed to chide me for calling a halt to his affection giving.

Theresa giggled again and wiped her face. "Puppy kisses," she beamed.

"Yes, and I think we need to go wash some of those puppy kisses off. Let's go back inside. I need to check on the other girls anyway."

"Okay, Mommy." Theresa got to her feet and brushed the legs of her pants, stomping her feet a couple of times until the cuffs settled around her ankles again. Then she looked up at me and grinned. "Bye, Star!" she waved, skipping happily to the house.

She got to the door before I did and tugged on the handle, bracing her feet and angling back on her legs so she could pull the door open. Once she had it open, she waited for me to enter first then came in behind me.

"Thank you, Theresa, that was very sweet of you," I told her.

"You welcome, Mommy."

"Go in the guest bathroom and wash your hands now. I'll be in there in a second to help you rinse off and dry. I want to check on your sisters and Tiffany."

Theresa's nose crinkled at the mention of Tiffany, but she obediently made her way to the guest bathroom and I soon heard the sound of running water. I was about to go upstairs to check on the other three girls when I heard Grace giggle and clap her hands.

"Bwee! Bwee!" she cheered.

I edged to the entryway to the living room so that they wouldn't notice me, curious as to what they were up to. The three girls were standing in front of Grace's playpen, entertaining her. Bridget was playing "peek a boo" with Grace, who cheered her sister's name every time Bridget opened her hands to reveal her face. The more I watched though, the more I realized it was only the twins who were entertaining Grace. Tiffany was standing a bit back, aloof, a slight twist to her eyebrows. After a while, she folded her arms and stared at Grace, leaning close to study her face.

"Who's this?"

Michele looked at Tiffany as if she were stupid. "What do you mean? This is Grace!"

"Your Mommy's babysitting her?"

"No, dummy, that's our sister," said Bridget.

"Don't call me a dummy," warned Tiffany. "She doesn't LOOK like your sister."

"Of course she does!"

"Maybe you're the dummy, 'Bwee,'" Tiffany sneered. "Come on, she looks different."

I stepped in, "That's because we adopted Grace, Tiffany."

Tiffany hurriedly smoothed her expression when she turned to me.

"So she's not really your daughter, Mrs. Calavicci?"

"Grace is just as much my daughter as Michele, Bridget, or Theresa. She didn't have to be born from my tummy to be my daughter, to be their sister. Love brings babies into families, Tiffany, and love brought Grace into ours."

Theresa started calling for me to come help her rinse off, so I had to excuse myself. Somehow Theresa had managed to soak her entire shirt as well as use an abundance of soap from her fingers to her elbows. I rinsed the soap off of her, inevitably saturating her shirt even further, so that just drying her hands and arms seemed pointless.

"We need to get a new shirt on you, baby," I told her, peeling the wet shirt off her.

The hand towel wasn't the best tool for drying her arms and torso, but it did the job adequately enough. Glancing at the large water spots on her pants, I decided we might as well do an entire outfit change on Theresa.

"Upstairs, munchkin," I said, making a shooing gesture behind Theresa.

"Only Daddy call me munchkin," she said, peevishly. "You call me baby girl."

"All right, baby girl, let's go upstairs and get some fresh clothes on."

Theresa started walking but when we reached the foyer she stopped. "Who yelling?"

I'd heard the voices a split second before Theresa commented on it and I was already dashing to the living room. Tiffany and Bridget were pulling each other's hair and shouting at each other.

"You take it back!" Tiffany hollered, both fists in Bridget's curls.

"I will not, Four Eyes," shot back Bridget. She yanked hard so that Tiffany's head was jolted. "You made fun of my sister's eyes!"

The two girls circled, never letting go of the other's hair. Michele was standing at Grace's playpen, reaching in to touch her sister and whispering to Grace, who was crying agitatedly due to all the ruckus. Michele looked near tears herself.

"Stop it! Girls! Stop it right now!" I shouted. I grabbed Tiffany's wrist with one hand, Bridget's with the other and somehow managed to halt their circling. "Let go of each other this instant!"

Bridget gave one final spiteful yank of Tiffany's hair before releasing, then whined when I had to help Tiffany disentangle her fingers from Bridget's curls. They glared at each other and I had to physically stand between them before they launched into another round.

"What were you two fighting about?"

"She called me Four Eyes," wept Tiffany.

"Bridget!"

"But, Mommy, she was making fun of Grace!" protested Bridget. She frowned and cut her eyes at Tiffany. "She put her fingers to her eyes like this," Bridget demonstrated by pulling the skin taut at the corners of her eyes, "and said…"

"I don't care what she said," I interrupted, gently moving Bridget's fingers away from her eyes. "And I don't want to see you copying that, even to show me what someone else did."

Michele hesitantly contributed, "Mommy, Tiffany was making fun of Grace. That's why Bridget called her 'Four Eyes.'"

Tiffany started crying harder. "I don't have four eyes! I have two eyes!" She looked up at me, her lower lip trembling, and said, "Mrs. Calavicci, I want to go hooooome."

"I want you go home, too!" said Theresa.

Tiffany threw herself to the floor and howled.

"Theresa, that's not nice! Apologize to Tiffany!"

Theresa looked balefully at me and shook her head. "No, she not nice girl!"

"I am nice!" wailed Tiffany. "I am a nice girl!"

I looked at Theresa with such a commanding look that even her two-year-old tendency to demand her own way withered. "Theresa Marie Calavicci, tell Tiffany you're sorry."

Meekly, obediently, but without any sincerity (probably because she couldn't comprehend what had been rude about her comments), Theresa told Tiffany she was sorry.

"Bridget, now you apologize for calling Tiffany names. There's no excuse for being ugly."

Reluctantly, Bridget said, "I'm sorry, Tiffany."

Now for the touchy aspect. How to correct Tiffany without crossing any lines. She wasn't my child, and yet I couldn't let her behavior go unchecked. Her tears hadn't abated one bit, either.

Grace decided Michele wasn't comfort enough and began crying for me, extending her arms and snatching her hands in the air. "AhMa! AhMa!" Before I said anything to Tiffany, I went to pick Grace up, snuggling her against me and kissing her cheeks.

"Tiffany, come sit on the couch with me and Grace, please."

She did, very hesitant to do so and she wiped at her eyes and nose. My other three daughters came to stand beside me near the arm of the couch, watching intently to see what I was going to do to Tiffany.

"This is Grace, Tiffany, and, yes, she looks different than the rest of us. Bridget got upset because you said some things and were making fun, and maybe that's because you don't understand, honey. See, Grace doesn't look like me because she didn't grow in my tummy; she grew in another lady's tummy."

Tiffany thought about that for a second, then volunteered, "My mommy said that the daddy helps put the baby in the mommy's tummy."

"Yes, that's true." I really wasn't comfortable having this birds and the bees type conversation with someone else's child.

"So did Mr. Calavicci help put Grace in the other lady's tummy?"

I felt my cheeks flush and I coughed lightly before answering. "No. And that's why Grace doesn't look like Mr. Calavicci either. She was born to another man and lady who died. Her first father was a white man like your daddy and like Mr. Calavicci, and her first mother was a lady from Vietnam."

"Is that why her eyes are slanty?"

"We call them almond-shaped," I corrected her before Bridget or Michele jumped in. "And, yes, that is why her eyes aren't round like mine or yours. Let me explain something to you, Tiffany. God makes each of us to look unique, to look different from each other. He gives some of us blue eyes, and some of us brown eyes; some of us brown hair, and some of us blonde hair. Some of us have light skin and some have dark skin. Don't you think it would be terribly boring if we all looked exactly the same?"

"I guess so."

"I think so, too. But to get back to my point, it doesn't matter that Grace didn't come from my body. She's my daughter, always and forever, just like these three." Grace leaned back and touched my cheeks with both hands.

"Wawama AhMa!"

"I love you too, Gracie," I said, angling my head down to kiss her. Tiffany shifted uncomfortably on the couch.

"Mrs. Calavicci?"

"What is it, Tiffany?"

She played with her lower lip before raising her blue eyes to meet mine. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you."

Tiffany tugged at her lip a couple more times and then asked, "Are you going to tell my Mommy?"

"Well, I think that you should discuss what happened with her."

Sighing, Tiffany nodded and pouted.

"Wee-sah," Grace said, smiling at her sister. I looked over and saw Theresa, still half naked and starting to shiver.

"Mommy, I cold."

"Oh, honey! I forgot all about you, baby! Let's go upstairs and get you changed into some dry clothes. Back in the playpen, Gracie-pooh." I got her settled and then glanced from Tiffany to Bridget and back again. After a moment's thought I beckoned to Bridget with a hooking motion of my index finger. "Bridget, come help me with Theresa. Michele, you and Tiffany play nice, okay?"

"Okay, Mommy."

"Yes, Mrs. Calavicci."

Bridget and Theresa preceded me up the stairs and Theresa dashed into her room as soon as we reached the second floor. When I didn't come in there to help her change quickly enough, she came back out and stood impatiently in her doorway, her pants already down to her knees.

"Mommy, change me!" she demanded.

Laughing, I said, "Hold your horses, Resa!" I scooped her up and carried her into her room, where Bridget had a mismatched shirt and pair of pants ready. Theresa giggled as I flipped her onto the bed and helped her out of her pants. She looked at the pink and green striped shirt and yellow plaid pants Bridget held and beamed.

"Pretty, Bree!"

I raised an eyebrow at her taste, which seemed more suited for a round of golf at a circus, but nodded at Bridget to bring the clothing over. She helped Theresa into the shirt while I helped her into the pants. Fully dressed, Theresa clapped and scurried downstairs.

"Mommy?" Bridget asked, handing me the discarded pants from the floor. "I have a question."

"What is it, baby?" I folded the pants and tucked them under my arm.

"How did Daddy help put us in your tummy?"

I dropped Theresa's pants and had to pick them up again. "What was that, Bridget?"

"Tiffany said her mommy said that the daddy helps put the baby in the mommy's tummy and you said that was right. So how did Daddy help put us in your tummy?" She walked to stand before me and lifted my shirt, studying my abdomen as if trying to figure out the access points. "Is there a baby in your tummy right now?"

"Bree," I began, gently moving her hands and smoothing my shirt, "there's no baby in there." Unless God's got a surprise in store for us, I thought.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not pregnant. Daddy and I aren't having another baby, Bree."

"But when you had me," she persisted, "how did I get in there? And Michele? How did Daddy help put us in there?"

I sat down on Theresa's bed and patted the spot next to me to indicate that I wanted Bridget to sit there. As she got settled, I racked my brain for a way to explain things that was accurate without being overwhelming.

"Honey, you know how boys have different private parts than girls do, right?"

All four girls were playing Chutes and Ladders, Michele helping Theresa, while I began making dinner. I had Grace in her highchair with a pacifier, teething ring, and rattle. She periodically banged the ring and rattle against the highchair tray, giggling around the pacifier in her mouth.

I set out all the ingredients I needed to make crab corn chowder and was just dropping the first two sticks of butter into the soup pot as the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," shouted Bridget, and she raced to get to the foyer before I could.

"I'll get it," I corrected her. "You aren't tall enough to check who it is first."

She gave me a sheepish smile and stepped back as I opened the door. Todd Phelps, Eileen's husband, stood on our porch with a smile almost as sheepish as Bridget's.

"Hi, Todd," I greeted him. "How are you doing?"

"Fine, Beth," he said, running a hand through his blond hair. "I hate to bother you…" He trailed off and I followed his gaze.

Bridget was staring intently at his fly. Turning slightly pink, I tapped her on the shoulder and she looked up at me, beckoning for me to bend down so she could whisper in my ear. I prayed Todd couldn't overhear as she whispered, "Does he have one that can make babies, too?"

"Yes," I whispered back, "now go play."

If Todd had overheard, he didn't show a sign of it. As soon as Bridget ran back into the living room, he continued with his request as if we hadn't been interrupted. "I'm working on changing the faucets in the master bath and I don't have the proper wrench. I was hoping that Al…"

He started sniffing the air, and I instinctively followed suit, quickly detecting the scent of butter about to scorch. "Al's in the garage," I tossed over my shoulder as I ran for the kitchen. "That way!"

I managed to salvage the butter from burning and quickly tossed in the onions, celery, and garlic to sauté. Once I had the mixture moving about the pot, I glanced back to make sure Todd had gone to the garage. The front door was closed and I saw no sign of him, so I returned my attention to the creation of the soup to the accompaniment of Grace's banging of toys against the highchair tray.

I added the other canned ingredients and had set myself to the task of making sure all the crabmeat was clean when the doorbell rang again. Bridget once again hollered, "I'll get it!"

"Oh, no you won't," I warned as I entered the foyer. I gave her a stern look and she retreated back to the living room.

It was Mrs. Dillson, ready to pick up Tiffany. "Hi, come on in!" I greeted her. "I was just making dinner, would you like to stay?"

Much to my relief, she said, "Oh, no, I'm afraid we can't. I need to pick up Tiffany and then we're off to visit her grandparents for supper."

"Tiffany," I called, "your Mommy's here."

Tiffany came in, the twins and Theresa following her. She looked nervous, as if certain I was going to tell on her for the ignorant things she'd said about Grace.

"We were glad to have her over. It was nice for the twins to have someone their age to play with."

"Even if Tiff-er-nee not," Theresa began, but I quickly interrupted her.

"Not able to stay for supper, I know, Theresa."

Theresa looked up at me absolutely flummoxed and wandered into the kitchen. Tiffany, however, gave me a grateful smile.

"Did you have a good time, Tiffi?" asked Mrs. Dillson.

"Yes," she nodded.

"And what do we tell Mrs. Calavicci?"

"Thank you for letting me come play."

"You're welcome, Tiffany. Tell her goodbye, girls."

The twins chorused their goodbye to Tiffany, and I walked her and her mother outside to the porch.

"Thanks for watching her, Beth," she told me. "I'll return the favor sometime."

"You do realize I have two," I grinned, and she laughed and waved as she and Tiffany made their way to the Lincoln Towne Car.

"Mommy, why didn't you tell her Mommy what she did?" Michele wanted to know.

"I didn't see the need to. We handled it here, and I'm sure Tiffany will tell her Mommy what happened."

"I guess so." She exchanged a look with Bridget and the two disappeared into the living room.

Shaking my head, I went back into the kitchen and finished working on the crabmeat. Theresa was playing peek-a-boo with Grace and tired of it just about the time I dumped the crabmeat into the chowder base. Grace, however, wanted to keep playing and banged insistently on the tray. She started to cry in frustration when Theresa left the room.

"Awww, Gracie, did your sissy leave you? Huh? Did your sissy leave you?" I slid the tray forward and lifted her out of the highchair. "You know what, baby? Daddy wanted me to tell him when Tiffany went home and Mommy forgot all about it. I think we should go tell him now, don't you?"

Bouncing her to try and stop her crying that the pacifier muffled, I carried her to the garage, pushing the door open. Laughter drifted inside and I paused, wondering what Al could be finding so funny. I stepped out and was greeted by Al's backside.

He was bent in half over the engine of his Corvette, the black hood open and a utility light clipped to it. On the other side of the car, Todd was bent over as well. Their heads were so close that if either of them leaned forward another inch they'd bonk their skulls.

"You didn't," Todd was saying.

"I did," Al insisted, laughing, lifting his head so he could see Todd as he confided, "Beth would kill me if she knew I told that story."

Todd looked up and saw me and started to say something, but I shook my head and lifted a finger to my lips. Todd grinned and returned his focus to Al and I quietly slipped back inside and closed the door, leaving the two of them to continue getting to know each other and strengthening their friendship. It had been too long since Al had had a good buddy to do things with, who would be there for him and vice versa. Chip had been killed early in Al's second tour. Rick had started to fill the void for Al once we'd been transferred to Texas, but eventually we were moved down to Corpus. While he'd made a few friends there, Jim Carver had died and then Al had landed the position at Starbright, moving us out here to California. Still, while Al kept in touch and maintained the friendships, none of these were that close friend I hoped Al would have—that I knew he needed.

Another burst of combined male laughter drifted to my ears and I smiled.

"I think Daddy's making a good friend," I told Grace.