Christmas Wishes

  He really was good with the girls and seemed to enjoy spending time with them. While K.O. set the kitchen table and cleared away the clutter that had accumulated everywhere, Wynn sat down and talked to the twins. The girls showed him the Christmas tree and the stockings that hung over the fireplace and the nativity scene set up on the formal dining room table.

  K.O. heard Zoe mention her imaginary horse named Blackie. Not to be outdone, Zara declared that her imaginary horse was named Brownie. Wynn listened to them seriously and even scooted over to make room for the horses on the sofa. K.O. was grateful that Wynn was sharing responsibility for the girls, whose constant demands quickly drained her.

  “I’m hungry now,” Zoe informed them half an hour later.

  “I’ll start the hot dogs,” K.O. said, ready for dinner herself.

  “I want pancakes.”

  “With syrup,” Zara said. Zoe nodded.

  K.O. looked at Wynn, who shrugged as if it was no big deal.

  “Then pancakes it is,” K.O. agreed. She’d let him cope with the sugar high. For the next ten minutes she was busy mixing batter and frying the pancakes. The twins wanted chocolate syrup and strawberry jam on top, with bananas and granola. Actually, it didn’t taste nearly as bad as K.O. had feared.

  According to her sister’s instructions, the girls were to be given their medication with meals. After dinner, Zoe and Zara climbed down from their chairs. When K.O. asked them to take their plates to the sink, they complied without an argument or even a complaint.

  “Time for your medicine,” K.O. told them next. She removed two small bottles filled with pink antibiotic from the refrigerator.

  The two girls raced about the kitchen, shrieking, with the dogs yapping at their heels. They seemed incapable of standing still.

  “Girls,” K.O. ordered sternly. “Take your medicine and then you can run around.” The way they were dashing back and forth, it was difficult to see who was who.

  Zara skidded to a stop and dutifully opened her mouth. Carefully measuring out the liquid, K.O. filled the spoon and popped it into the child’s mouth. Immediately afterward, the twins took off in a frenzied race around the kitchen table.

  “Zoe,” K.O. said, holding the second bottle and a clean spoon and waiting for the mayhem to die down so she could dispense the correct dose to her other niece. “Your turn.”

  The twin appeared in front of her, mouth open. K.O. poured medicine onto the spoon. About to give it to Zoe, she hesitated. “You’re not Zoe. You’re Zara.”

  “I’m Zoe,” she insisted. Although the girls were identical, K.O. could usually tell one from the other, partly by their personalities. Zara had the stronger, more dominant nature. “Are you sure?” she asked.

  The little girl nodded vigorously. Uncertain, K.O. reluctantly gave her the medication. The twins continued to chase each other about the kitchen, weaving their way around and between Wynn and K.O. The dogs dashed after them, yapping madly.

  Wynn asked, “Is everything all right?”

  K.O. still held the empty spoon. “I have a horrible feeling I just gave two doses to the same girl.”

  “You can trust the twins to tell you the truth,” Wynn pronounced. “Children instinctively know when it’s important to tell the truth.”

  “Really?” K.O. couldn’t help worrying.

  “Of course. It’s in the book,” Wynn said as if quoting Scripture.

  “You didn’t feed Blackie and Brownie,” Zara cried when K.O. tossed the leftover pancakes in the garbage.

  “Then we must.” Wynn proceeded to remove the cold pancakes and tear them into small pieces. Zero and Zorro leaped off the ground in an effort to snatch up the leftovers. Zoe and Zara sat on the floor and fed the dogs and supposedly their imaginary pets, as well.

  The yapping dogs were giving K.O. a headache. “How about if I turn on the television,” she suggested, shouting to be heard above the racket made by the girls and the dogs.

  The twins hollered their approval, but the show that flashed onto the screen was a Christmas cartoon featuring none other than Santa himself. Jolly old soul that he was, Santa laughed and loaded his sleigh while the girls watched with rapt attention. Knowing how her sister felt, K.O. figured this was probably the first time they’d seen Santa all season. K.O. glanced at Wynn, who was frowning back.

  “Let’s see what else is on,” K.O. said quickly.

  “I want to watch Santa,” Zoe shouted.

  “Me, too,” Zara muttered.

  Wynn sat on the sofa between them and wrapped his arms around their small shoulders. “This show is about a character called Santa Claus,” he said in a solicitous voice.

  Both girls were far too involved in the program to be easily distracted by adult conversation.

  “Sometimes mommies and daddies like to make believe, and while they don’t mean to lie, they can mislead their children,” he went on.

  Zoe briefly tore her gaze away from the television screen. “Like Santa, you mean?”

  Wynn smiled. “Like Santa,” he agreed.

  “We know he’s not real,” Zoe informed them with all the wisdom of a five-year-old.

  “Santa is really Mommy and Daddy,” Zara explained. “Everyone knows that.”

  “They do?”

  Both girls nodded.

  Zoe’s eyes turned serious. “We heard Mommy and Daddy fighting about Santa and we almost told them it doesn’t matter ’cause we already know.”

  “We like getting gifts from him, though,” Zara told them.

  “Yeah, I like Santa,” Zoe added.

  “But he’s not real,” Wynn said, sounding perfectly logical.

  “Mommy’s real,” Zara argued. “And Daddy, too.”

  “Yes, but…” Wynn seemed determined to argue further, but stopped when he happened to glance at K.O. He held her gaze a moment before looking away.

  K.O. did her best to keep quiet, but apparently Wynn realized how difficult that was, because he clammed up fast enough.

  The next time she looked at the twins, Zara had slumped over to one side, eyes drooping. K.O. gently shook the little girl’s shoulders but Zara didn’t respond. Still fearing she might have given one twin a double dose of the antibiotic, she knelt down in front of the other child.

  “Zoe,” she asked, struggling to keep the panic out of her voice. “Did you get your medicine or did Zara swallow both doses?”

  Zoe grinned and pantomimed zipping her mouth closed.

  “Zoe,” K.O. said again. “This is important. We can’t play games when medicine is involved.” So much for Wynn’s theory that children instinctively knew when it was necessary to tell the truth.

  “Zara likes the taste better’n me.”

  “Did you take your medicine or did Zara take it for you?” Wynn asked.

  Zoe smiled and shook her head, indicating that she wasn’t telling.

  Zara snored, punctuating the conversation.

  “Did you or did you not take your medicine?” Wynn demanded, nearly yelling.

  Tears welled in Zoe’s eyes. She buried her face in K.O.’s lap and refused to answer Wynn.

  “This isn’t a joke,” he muttered, clearly losing his patience with the twins.

  “Zoe,” K.O. cautioned. “You heard Dr. Jeffries. It’s important for us to know if you took your medication.”

  The little girl raised her head, then slowly nodded. “It tastes bad, but I swallowed it all down.”

  “Good.” Relief flooded K.O. “Thank you for telling the truth.”

  “I don’t like your friend,” she said, sticking her tongue out at Wynn. “He yells.”

  “I only yelled because…you made me,” Wynn countered. He marched to the far side of the room, and K.O. reflected that he didn’t sound so calm and reasonable anymore.

  “Why don’t we all play a game?” she suggested.

  Zara raised her head sleepily from the sofa edge. “Can we play Old Maid?” she asked, yawning.

  “I want to play Candyl
and,” Zoe mumbled.

  “Why don’t we play both?” K.O. said, and they did. In fact, they played for two hours straight, watched television and then drank hot chocolate.

  “Shall we take a bath now?” K.O. asked, hoping that would tire the girls out enough to want to go to bed. She didn’t know where they got their stamina, but her own was fading rapidly.

  The twins were eager to do something altogether different and instantly raced out of the room.

  Wynn looked like he could use a break—and he hadn’t even seen them at their most challenging. All in all, the girls were exhibiting good behavior, or what passed for good in the regime of the Free Child.

  “I’ll run the bath water,” K.O. told Wynn as he gathered up the cards and game pieces. Had she been on her own, K.O. would have insisted the twins pick up after themselves.

  While the girls were occupied in their bedroom, she put on a Christmas CD she particularly liked and started the bath. When she glanced into the living room, she saw Wynn collapsed on the sofa, legs stretched out.

  “It hasn’t been so bad,” he said, as though that was proof his theories were working well. “As soon as the twins are down, we can talk,” he murmured, “about us…”

  K.O. wasn’t ready for that, feeling he should spend more time with the girls. She felt honor-bound to remind Wynn of what he’d written in his book. “Didn’t you say that children know when they need sleep and we as adults should trust them to set their own schedules?”

  He seemed about to argue with her, but then abruptly sat up and pointed across the room. “What’s that?”

  A naked dog strolled into the living room. Rather, a hairless dog.

  “Zero? Zorro?” K.O. asked. “Oh, my goodness!” She dashed into the bathroom to discover Zara sitting on the floor with Wynn’s electric shaver. A pile of brown-and-black dog hair littered the area.

  “What happened?” Wynn cried, hard on her heels. His mouth fell open when he saw the girls intent on their task. They’d gone through his toiletries, which were spread across the countertop next to the sink. K.O. realized that the hum of the shaver had been concealed by the melodious strains of “Silent Night.” “What are you doing?”

  “We’re giving haircuts,” Zara announced. “Do you want one?”

  Chapter

  16

  Two hours later, at ten-thirty, both Zoe and Zara were in their beds and asleep. This was no small accomplishment. After half a dozen stories, the girls were finally down for the night. K.O. tiptoed out of the room and as quietly as possible closed the door. Wynn was just ahead of her and looked as exhausted as she felt.

  Zero regarded K.O. forlornly from the hallway. The poor dog had been almost completely shaved. He stared up at her, hairless and shivering. Zorro still had half his hair. The Yorkshire terrier’s left side had been sheared before K.O. managed to snatch the razor out of her niece’s hand. Last winter Zelda had knit tiny dog sweaters, which K.O. found, and with Wynn’s help slipped over the two terriers. At least they’d be warm, although neither dog seemed especially grateful.

  K.O. sank down on the sofa beside Wynn, with the dogs nestled at their feet. Breathing out a long, deep sigh, she gazed up at the ceiling. Wynn was curiously quiet.

  “I feel like going to bed myself,” she murmured when she’d recovered enough energy to speak.

  “What time are your sister and brother-in-law supposed to return?” Wynn asked with what seemed to require an extraordinary amount of effort.

  “Zelda said they should be home by three.”

  “That late?”

  K.O. couldn’t keep the grin off her face. It was just as she’d hoped. She wouldn’t have to argue about the problem with his Free Child theories, since he’d been able to witness for himself the havoc they caused.

  Straightening, K.O. suggested they listen to some more music.

  “That won’t disturb them, will it?” he asked when she got up to put on another CD. Evidently he had no interest in anything that might wake the girls.

  “I should hope not.” She found the Christmas CD she’d given to Zelda two years earlier, and inserted it in the player. It featured a number of pop artists. Smiling over at Wynn, she lowered the volume. John Denver’s voice reached softly into the room, singing “Joy to the World.”

  Wynn turned off the floor lamp, so the only illumination came from the Christmas-tree lights. The mood was cheerful and yet relaxed.

  For the first time in days they were alone. The incident with Wynn’s father and the demands of the twins were the last things on K.O.’s mind.

  Wynn placed his arm across the back of the sofa and she sat close to him, resting her head against his shoulder. All they needed now was a glass of wine and a kiss or two. Romance swirled through the room with the music and Christmas lights. Wynn must’ve felt it, too, because he turned her in his arms. K.O. started to close her eyes, anticipating his kiss, when she caught a movement from the corner of her eye.

  She gasped.

  A mouse…a rodent ran across the floor.

  Instantly alarmed, K.O. jerked away from Wynn.

  He bolted upright. “What is it?”

  “A mouse.” She hated mice. “There,” she cried, covering her mouth to stifle a scream. She pointed as the rodent scampered under the Christmas tree.

  Wynn leaped to his feet. “I see it.”

  Apparently so did Zero, because he let out a yelp and headed right for the tree. Zorro followed.

  K.O. brought both feet onto the sofa and hugged her knees. It was completely unreasonable—and so clichéd—to be terrified of a little mouse. But she was. While logic told her a mouse was harmless, that knowledge didn’t help.

  “You have to get it out of here,” she whimpered as panic set in.

  “I’ll catch it,” he shouted and dived under the Christmas tree, toppling it. The tree slammed against the floor, shattering several bulbs. Ornaments rolled in all directions. The dogs ran for cover. Fortunately the tree was still plugged in because it offered what little light was available.

  Unable to watch, K.O. hid her eyes. She wondered what Wynn would do if he did manage to corner the rodent. The thought of him killing it right there in her sister’s living room was intolerable.

  “Don’t kill it,” she insisted and removed her hands from her eyes to find Wynn on his hands and knees, staring at her.

  The mouse darted across the floor and raced under the sofa, where K.O. just happened to be sitting.

  Zero and Zorro ran after it, yelping frantically.

  K.O. screeched and scrambled to a standing position on the sofa. Not knowing what else to do, she bounced from one cushion to the other.

  Zero had buried his nose as far as it would go under the sofa. Zorro dashed back and forth on the carpet. As hard as she tried, K.O. couldn’t keep still and began hopping up and down, crying out in abject terror. She didn’t care if she woke the girls or not, there was a mouse directly beneath her feet…somewhere. For all she knew, it could have crawled into the sofa itself.

  That thought made her jump from the middle of the sofa, over the armrest and onto the floor, narrowly missing Zero. The lamp fell when she landed, but she was able to catch it seconds before it crashed to the floor. As she righted the lamp, she flipped it on, provided a welcome circle of light.

  Meanwhile, Barry Manilow crooned out “The Twelve Days of Christmas.”

  Still on all fours, Wynn crept across the carpet to the sofa, which he overturned. As it pitched onto its back, the mouse shot out.

  Directly at K.O.

  She screamed.

  Zero yelped.

  Zorro tore fearlessly after it.

  K.O. screamed again and grabbed a basket in which Zelda kept her knitting. She emptied the basket and, more by instinct than anything else, flung it over the mouse, trapping him.

  Wynn sat up with a shocked look. “You got him!”

  Both dogs stood guard by the basket, sniffing at the edges. Zero scratched the carpet.

/>   Zelda’s yarn and needles were a tangled mess on the floor but seemed intact. Breathless, K.O. stared at the basket, not knowing what to do next. “It had a brown tail,” she commented.

  Wynn nodded. “I noticed that, too.”

  “I’ve never seen a mouse with a brown tail before.”

  “It’s an African brown-tailed mouse,” he said, sounding knowledgeable. “I saw a documentary on them.”

  “African mice are here in the States?” She wondered if Animal Control knew about this.

  He nodded again. “So I gather.”

  “What do we do now?” Because Wynn seemed to know more about this sort of thing, she looked to him for the answer.

  “Kill it,” he said without a qualm.

  Zero and Zorro obviously agreed, because they both growled and clawed at the carpet, asking for the opportunity to do it themselves.

  “No way!” K.O. objected. She couldn’t allow him to kill it. The terriers, either. Although mice terrified her, K.O. couldn’t bear to hurt any of God’s creatures. “All I want you to do is get that brown-tailed mouse out of here.” As soon as Zelda returned, K.O. planned to suggest she call a pest control company to inspect the entire house. Although, if there were other mice around, she didn’t want to know it….

  “All right,” Wynn muttered. “I’ll take it outside and release it.”

  He got a newspaper and knelt down next to the dogs. Carefully, inch by inch, he slid the paper beneath the upended basket. When he’d finished that, he stood and carried the whole thing to the front door. Zero and Zorro followed, leaping up on their hind legs and barking wildly.

  K.O. hurried to open first the door and then the screen. The cold air felt good against her heated face.

  Wynn stepped onto the porch while K.O. held back the dogs by closing the screen door. They both objected strenuously and braced their front paws against the door, watching Wynn’s every movement.

  K.O. turned her back as Wynn released the African brown-tailed mouse into the great unknown. She wished the critter a pleasant life outside.

  “Is it gone?” she asked when Wynn came back into the house, careful to keep Zero and Zorro from escaping and racing after the varmint.