“Do you want a pastry?” Linda asked.
“Um.”
“Okay. Sit down. At the kitchen table. Let me quiet the girls.”
“Jessie didn’t make t’em cry.”
“No. Jessie didn’t make them cry. But now Linda must kiss them.” Linda went into the nursery, smiled at her two babies who were lying, Gina belly-down, Michelle belly-up, next to each other, Michelle’s right arm under Gina’s head, Gina’s right arm over Michelle’s chest. “What are you two doing, huh?” Linda checked their diapers. They were both damp but, she thought, not really wet. She cranked up the musical mobile that craned over the crib. “Let me talk to Jessie,” Linda said sweetly, “then maybe we’ll go out in the stroller. Or maybe read a book.”
Back in the kitchen Jessie had already eaten both napoleons and the only cannoli that John Jr. hadn’t
