The Arrangement Vol. 26 (The Ferro Family) Page 4

We walk down a hallway with cream-colored carpet and dark gray walls. The moldings are thick, chunky, and slick—no ornate pattern. Uppers and lowers are both white, giving the hall a crisp clean feel. There are plants in the corners with pale silver leaves and light purple flowers. The marble pots are bigger than me. There are wall fixtures splashing light everywhere, spaced every few feet. Doorways lead off in different directions. This central hall has more of those fire doors. I can spot the line of metal against the wooden grain. I’m surprised Constance didn’t hide that. Maybe she couldn’t.

  When Sean reaches the end of the hallway, he turns right, and we’re in a bright corridor of pale blues and silvers. The ceiling glows like it’s illuminated by firelight. It’s so soft and beautiful. Sean pads past floor to ceiling windows with damask drapes covered in silver leaves on a pewter backdrop. No fringe. Outside is a play area, shaded by towering trees, a splash pad with tiny fountains, and a colorful mat in case the babies fall. I tug on Sean’s shoulder and squeal with delight. “They have their own splash pad! How’d your mother even know what that was?”

  “Do you like it?”

  “I didn’t want to like any of this, but she made it the colors and styles I would have chosen. Everything is light and happy. Like the house in the Caribbean. The only thing missing is a pool with an aqua bottom.”

  “It’s not missing.” Constance’s voice is firm and echoes down the corridor behind us. Sean turns, still holding me.

  “This is beyond beautiful.”

  She’s standing like a red stain on the carpet, hands folded in front of her. “Thank you. I’d hoped you could enjoy it when you visited with the children. I had no idea it would be so soon. Forgive me for not --” she exhales loudly through her nose as if the ability to apologize is impossible for her.

  “There’s nothing to forgive. You gave us a safe haven when we needed one most. Last time it cost you everything you held dear. I can’t thank you enough for this.”

  “Mother.”

  “Sean.” She locks eyes with him for a moment and I think they might argue, but then she looks to me again. “You have two master suites, one downstairs and one up by the nursery.”

  “There’s a nursery!” I’m beaming at her, but she isn’t smiling back.

  She swats a hand at me, and I can see her inner old Italian woman wanting to lash out at me. “Of course there’s a nursery. Get some rest and you can see it later.”

  Sean follows the directions Constance gave to the lower master, after assuring me she and my mother are staying with the babies. Sean whispers, “I’ll check, but I don’t think we need to worry about them when they’re little. No with her. Not with your mother. Two stronger women never existed.”

  We enter a large room that is fifty shades of white. White linens, cream drapes, silvery mirrors, pearl surround on the fireplace. The limestone walls stretch to the ceiling behind the bed and are softened with long panels of creamy velvet. The bed is oversized, with a carved headboard that’s been whitewashed. A center panel of cream-colored leather is held in place by silver brads. The pillows look like little clouds and the bedspread is white, and feather filled. I can tell from here. The impulse to run and jump on it fills me, but I can barely move. My body aches so much. Sean sets me down and I sink into the blankets. He grabs a chenille throw that’s resting at the foot of the bed and covers me, before leaning down and kissing my forehead.

  Sleep is pawing at me. Within two blinks of my head hitting the pillow, Sean’s voice fades and I’m asleep. The next few days pass in a blur of exhaustion, midnight feedings, and pain. Sleep pulls me under every chance I stop moving. I’ve never been so tired in my life. So I sleep. And sleep again. Eventually, a rhythm develops of babies, sleep, babies, rest, Sean cuddles, and then another catnap.

  Chapter 6

  My heart is racing and I don’t know why. I’ve been running, and my body is covered in sweat. When I glance down, I’m not pregnant. No, I had the babies. But I don’t remember this dress. It’s white, with pearls. My hands run down the bodice, feeling my slender form, something I barely remember when I see the stains of scarlet. The patches of blood. They mar the lace and I don’t realize I’m standing on the courthouse steps, being pulling upward, until I see Sean’s ashen face standing at the top. He spits on me.

  He spits on me.

  They spit on him for Amanda.

  I blink, and try to press my hand to my head. The world blurs as I’m sucked down a dark hole. Suddenly I’m slammed in the face with light. Bright and warm.

  A soft male voice in my ear, “Are you awake? Avery?”

  Peeling my eyes open, I look at him. “Sean?”

  He smirks, brushes a dark curl away from my face. He’s feeding our daughter. I sit up suddenly fearful. That stupid nightmare happens over and over. One baby is sitting there, the other is gone. And I’m covered in blood. Blamed. I’ve had the same dream for months now. It drifts away like a little balloon as soon as I wake, but this time it clings like pond scum because of the letter—because the threat is real.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I shake it off. Nightmares don’t matter if they don’t come true. I’ll make sure this never comes to pass. Smiling softly, I shake my head and bounce out of bed. Or try to. I’m still incredibly sore. My walk feels like a waddle despite my smaller body. “Nothing. Just having crazy dreams. Probably from hormone craziness. They’ll go away.”

  Sean nods slowly, not quite believing me, but he doesn’t push. “My mother is going to name these babies if we don’t decide something soon.”

  I laugh and take over the feeding. Cradling the baby in my arms, I watch her suckle the bottle. I pumped breastmilk for them. It was incredibly painful. I’ll do it for as long as I can, but the babies couldn’t latch on. My body wasn’t made for it. A lactation consultant was called in when neither child could gain suction. There’s a house doctor for me and a pediatrician for the babies. I just wanted a few moments alone. I went to sit on the bed and fell asleep. I was torn about bottles, but this allows everyone to enjoy feeding the babies and gives them breastmilk. It’s still hard because I pictured myself nursing and it just won’t happen. Although my tits will be perky much longer than the normal woman. Something about inverted nipples plus tight tendons and something else I didn’t really understand, made for a nursing nightmare. The specialist suggested this method. I admit, there’s something about seeing Sean with a baby in his arms and a bottle in his huge hands that’s incredibly alluring. No sex for six weeks. Set the thoughts aside. Tiredness and delirium are besties in my brain right now. Despite all the help. The only staff I refused was the nanny. That was a hard hell no. I’m raising my kids. Constance laughed and said to let her know when I changed my mind.

  “Names? What do you like?” I sit on the edge of the bed and pat the space next to me. Sean sits down softly, careful not to jar me.

  The corner of his mouth tips up. His face is unshaven, he’s wearing jeans and a white t-shirt with a V-neck and is barefoot. His dark hair hangs forward. He’s let it get longer than it had been. Sean looks half-dressed. No, that’s not it. He’s unkempt. His face has two-day stubble, not that five o’clock shadow he wears intentionally, even at sunrise. He’s tired too. It’s nice to see we’re keeping pace. I settle back down onto the bed, rest the baby in my arm, and continue to feed her. Sean spoons behind me, his lips warm by my ear. “For the girl?”

  “Yes.” There’s hesitation there. For a moment I think he’s going to ask me to name her Amanda.

  I feel him speak against my neck as he snuggles against my back, hip to hip, foot to foot, head to head. “Genevieve. Or Adalinea.”

  I make a little noise in the back of my throat. It’s not quite a laugh, but close to it. “So you like names from the year 1674 or was that 75?” His fingers are at my sides in an instant, tickling me softly.

  “It was ‘79 smart mouth. Why, what do you like?”

  I glance at our daughter’s face. “Beatrice. Or Madge.”
I’m quiet for a moment, whispering to baby Madge, but I can’t hold it in. I start giggling because he believes me and is actually considering it. “We can’t name our baby Madge!”

  “Well, Margret isn’t out of the question. I’m just relieved you’re not completely overwhelmed by millennial names that sound more like colors or food.”

  That makes me laugh so hard it hurts. “Like what! And since when am I a millennial? You old Gen-Xer?”

  “Technically I’m not X. I remember having the internet as a child. I also remember not having it. We have our own classification and traits. But you, my sexy bride-to-be,” he breathes into my hair before kissing my neck, “are the next generation. We should have nothing in common.”

  “Except the internet. This crazy castle your Mom built for us. And a couple of babies.” When the baby finishes the bottle and I pat her back, she dozes off. I snuggle her and Sean resumes his place behind me. He holds me like that until all three of us doze off on the bed.

  Chapter 7

  When I wake, it’s the middle of the night. Sean is asleep next to me and there’s no baby. For a horrible moment, I think I must be sitting on her. I root around the bed, half panicked, picking at the sheets until Sean mumbles that the babies are in the nursery.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” I lean down and kiss his cheek. “I love you, Sean.”

  He reaches out for me, offering for me to join him and fall back to sleep in his embrace. “Mmmm.” He’s not completely awake.

  I whisper, “I’ll be right back. I want to go check on the babies and grab something to eat.”

  “There’s a full kitchen off the nursery suite.”

  Suite? I thought it was a bedroom, a big one. I just nod and tiptoe out. By the time I’m closing the door, Sean’s breathing is soft and even again. He’s exhausted.

  I wander around in the dim light and realize that the ceiling is glowing dimly. Around the edges. There must be some soft lighting up there. I follow the white carpet to a staircase that’s shallow with multiple landings. This must be it. Constance wouldn’t make something like this unless it was to make it easier for the babies to navigate in a few years. Two steps then a large landing, then a forty-five-degree turn. It almost looked like short fat blocks, stacked on their sides. At the upper landing, there is a set of double doors that are carved and painted with scenes from children’s literature. A fairy is in front of my eyes with a young boy flying behind her. There’s a trail of fairy dust falling from the sprite, illuminating what’s below. Touches of gold paint are on toadstools, flowers, and fairy houses. There’s a puppy with lots of spots. An owl and a cat sitting in a boat on a gleaming pond. Willow trees line the side of the door, extending to the curve at the apex where there are two stars. The one on the right glows brighter. Next to the stars is a cow jumping over a crescent moon. There are so many stories told in this door that I could sit and look at it forever. Carved above the apex of the archway, into the wooden beam, are gold letters in a language I don’t recognize.

  Saol fada agus breac-shláinte chugat.

  His voice startles me. “It’s a blessing. An old Gaelic one.” Bryan is there in a pair of cotton lounge pants and a clingy white t-shirt.

  “I thought you guys were 100%—”

  Bryan smiles and laughs, but it’s not the carefree way he used to. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the wall, crossing his legs at the ankle. “No one is 100% anything if you go back far enough.”

  “Don’t tell your Aunt. I think Constance will have a stroke.”

  He jabs a thumb at the phrase. “True, but she wouldn’t ignore tradition. Not this one. That saying was on my cradle and then above my bed as a child.”

  The slew of letters makes no sense to me at all. I can’t even imagine what it could say. “What does it mean?”

  “It’s a blessing that says, ‘A long life and fair health.’”

  Warmth spreads through me and causes the corners of my mouth to turn up into a soft smile. She craved a family blessing into the doorway for my babies. I glance away from the letters, wishing I knew more about the good traditions of this family. “All the Ferro babies had that on their cribs and cradles?”

  He nods. “Yup. And I bet your wee ones do too.” Then he puts a finger to his lips again. “Don’t tell anyone the Ferro family secret.”

  “That you’re Irish. Or that you want to be?” I laugh at the last part.

  “Something like that.” He pushes off the wall and stands directly in front my so we are both facing the beautiful doors. “Have you been inside the nursery yet?”

  “Not yet. I wanted to check on the babies, and get something to eat.”

  “Well, you’re in the right place.” Bryan steps forward and pushes open the magical doors. Enough light enters the room that I’m rendered speechless.

  The tower is the most beautiful, sweetest baby room I’ve ever seen in my life. The ceiling has golden calligraphy spiraling around a chandelier made from aged bronze. The light fixtures are fairy wings and flowers. All of which surround a tangle of tree branches, wildflowers, and pixies. Tiny crystals dangle from the fixture in some places, while others have blown glass that’s softly illuminated and casting a soft glow like a nightlight. There are matching fixtures around the room, smaller, and each different with a tiny nightlight. One is a crocodile with a clock on his tail. Another is a mermaid with seaweed and long hair. There are at least a dozen more scattered through the room. It makes the walls glow gold.

  For a moment, I think there’s golden wallpaper, but I reach out and touch it and it’s smooth and cold.

  “Is this…?”

  “Gold. Yeah, your babies have gold walls.” He says it matter-of-factly. Like it’s normal. “It’s used throughout the suite. Aunt Connie used rose gold and white gold, but she liked the gender neutrality of the regular gold.”

  Hand resting on the wall, I ask, “How did she put gold on walls?”

  “It’s gold leaf. It comes in squares and artisans apply each piece by hand. That’s why there’s a subtle pattern. It looks breathtaking in daylight.” He stands behind me, hands in the pockets of his pajama pants.

  I stare at him. It’s so good to have him here. To hear his voice again. Bryan left an impression on me. His legacy was laughter. The sounds of merriment followed him through every hall, all the time. His laughter was sincere and contagious. Even in hindsight, knowing the burden he bore, I do not doubt the authenticity of his boldness in being happy.

  Glancing around the room, I reach for a soft stuffed rabbit with a sunbonnet. I adjust the bow under her neck as I ask him something I have no place asking. No place saying. I don’t want to gut him and slice open old wounds, but I need to now. “Where have you been? Hallie was so distraught after you died.” So was I.

  He shakes his head once and tips it towards the other side of the room. There are twin cribs across from one another. I can see the babies sleeping, the slow rise and fall of their round tummies, through the swaddling.

  “See that door?” He points to the one between the cribs. “Aunt Connie and your Mom are through there. The babies aren’t alone. And there are cameras in here, baby monitors, but a recording all the same. The kitchen, on the other hand, is packed with food and a comfortable place to talk. Finish looking around. I know you they’ve been bringing the babies to you for the past few days.”

  I nod and take in the rest of the room, pausing the where-the-hell-were-you conversation. “It feels like weeks.”

  Bryan settles against a wall again, taking up the same stance as before. Casual. Unhurried.

  I could have wandered up here sooner, but the stairs and the episiotomy, well, sitting is painful. The thought of bounding up a flight of steps? I put it off. I’m glad I did. Seeing it at night, seeing the twins asleep, side by side in their little cribs, surrounded by the golden warm glow of the room just fills me with joy.

  There’s so much to take in, but the next thing that captures my
attention is along the baseboards. There are baby animals elegantly painted along the lower part of one of the walls. They’re turning to face a little cozy nook nestled under a leaded glass window. It has a long narrow bench topped with a padded gold velvet cushion. Pink, blue, and gold-tone pillows are scattered against the backrest.

  Books fill a white case next to the window, floor to ceiling, with the ones at the very top locked away behind glass. I wander over to see why. Amongst them are first editions of popular children’s books like Peter Rabbit, complete with original cloth cover chosen by the author. A book that had to cost Connie over thirty-grand for that one title. There are other books by Beatrix Potter and then a huge J.M. Barrie book.

  Bryan is behind me. He whispers, “That is Peter Pan, fully illustrated by a famous artist named Arthur Rackham. His books are highly coveted. So are Barrie’s early editions. The tale of Peter Pan morphed over time. Our Peter, the literature lover, can ramble about it for hours. That book was probably around twenty thousand. It depends on which version it is.”

  “Holy crap,” I mutter, shocked at the amount she spent on decorative books.

  “The books shock you?” He laughs softly. “Avery, the walls are literally made of gold.” Bryan watches me take in the nursery. Every nook and cranny well thought out for an infant or a toddler. Even into early childhood, I could see them using this room. Jumping on beds or reading in the window.

  Only one thing is missing. “No TV?”

  Bryan gives me a look. “My aunt may be old, but she’s up to date on education and the use of electronics in making super-smart babies.” He hands me a remote.

  “Will it wake them?” He shakes his head. “No, it’s silent.”

  I press the only button on the remote. The walnut-stained wooden top of one of the half walls starts to move. It rises into in the air, with the carousel horse still atop. A large television emerges, and at its base is a cluster of smaller electronics like iPads in bust-proof boxes. The tiny ones, perfect for little hands.