Chương 1
“Pack your bags. You’re fired—my daughters haven’t laughed since their mother died.”
Daniel Carter drove the nursery door into the wall hard enough to tilt one of the framed watercolors in the hallway. The impact rang through the apartment, followed by the thin metallic rattle of an antique rifle mounted above the opposite painting. He stood barefoot in the doorway, one hand still on the brass handle, the other pointing toward the dark hall.
Both babies were crying.
For half a second, that was all he understood.
Maisie and Rosie stood unsteadily inside their matching white cribs, gripping the rails in pale-pink fists. Their cheeks shone beneath the amber bedside lamp. The thick rug had muffled Daniel’s approach, but not the door. Beyond the large nursery window, the city glimmered as if nothing in the world had happened.
Between the cribs, Elise Navarro knelt on the polished floor in a cream floral nightdress, wearing a pair of oversized headphones. Bright yellow rubber kitchen gloves covered her hands. She had drawn uneven black eyes and red mouths across the palms. One glove was frozen inches from the other, caught in the middle of what appeared to be an argument.
Her playful expression disappeared.
She pulled one ear cup aside. “Mr. Carter?”
Daniel’s finger remained aimed at the hallway.
“You heard me.”
The yellow glove on Elise’s right hand sagged at the wrist. She looked from Daniel to the twins, breathing through parted lips.
Maisie stopped crying first.
A wet hiccup passed through her. Then she stared at the raised glove and made a startled sound that was almost a cough. Rosie turned toward her sister.
Elise did not move.
The babies waited.
The instant Elise lowered the glove another inch, Maisie let out a sharp, delighted laugh.
Rosie followed.
The sound came so suddenly that Daniel’s hand dropped before he knew he had lowered it. The twins bounced against their mattresses, clapping at the rails, tears still pooled beneath their eyes. Maisie’s pink headband had slipped sideways. Rosie’s damp curls clung to her forehead.
They laughed again—clear, breathless, astonished laughter.
Daniel had heard that sound before.
Not often. Not enough.
Rebecca had once stood barefoot in the kitchen with a wooden spatula tucked under her nose, pretending to be an outraged French chef. Morning sun had covered the tile. Rosie had squealed from her infant seat while Maisie kicked both legs. Rebecca had danced badly because she knew it made him uncomfortable to watch and because making him uncomfortable had always amused her.
The memory lasted less than a heartbeat.
Then the kitchen was gone, and Daniel was looking at Elise on the nursery floor.
Elise slid the headphones down around her neck. Her hands trembled inside the gloves.
“Sir…” Her voice came out breathless. She swallowed and tried again. “They weren’t crying at me. They were asking me to stay.”
Daniel looked at the twins.
The moment the glove puppets stopped, their laughter softened into uncertain little noises. Maisie pressed her face between two crib rails. Rosie bounced once and waited.
Daniel’s eyes moved to the digital clock on the dresser.
2:03 A.M.
Beside it sat a pink teddy bear, a cream teddy bear with one flattened ear, and the tall stuffed giraffe Rebecca had ordered before the twins were born. She had complained that the giraffe’s expression was judgmental. Daniel had never noticed until after she died. Now he noticed every night.
His throat tightened.
Elise’s shoulders rose with a quiet breath. She looked prepared to stand, although she seemed unsure whether she was allowed to move.
Daniel stepped into the warm light.
He picked up the pink teddy bear. Its stitched smile faced him with unreasonable cheerfulness.
“Do it again,” he said.
Elise blinked.
“What?”
“Whatever you were doing.”
He slid one hand behind the teddy bear and raised it awkwardly. The bear’s head tipped backward.
Maisie gave a small hopeful laugh.
Elise stared at Daniel for a moment longer, then lifted the yellow gloves.
The puppet on her left hand turned toward the one on her right.
“I have told you,” she said in a hoarse, offended voice, “that bananas are not formal footwear.”
The second puppet gasped. “That is exactly what someone with no bananas would say.”
Rosie squealed.
Daniel remained near the doorway with the teddy bear raised, his arm stiff. Elise flicked one yellow wrist toward him.
The first puppet pointed at the bear. “And who invited this guy?”
Daniel glanced at the pink face near his hand.
The twins watched him.
He made the teddy bear nod once.
Elise waited.
Daniel cleared his throat. “I’m with the bananas.”
For one terrible second, nothing happened.
Then Maisie collapsed backward onto her mattress, kicking both feet. Rosie slapped the crib rail and laughed so hard no sound came out at first.
Elise’s mouth opened in surprise.
Daniel stood perfectly still.
He had forgotten what joy did to a room. It did not ask permission. It reached into corners. It made the warm lamp seem warmer and the open doorway less like a border between two separate lives.
Rosie’s laugh broke into a cough. Elise rose immediately and leaned over the crib, one yellow hand supporting the baby’s back while the other pulled the headphone cord out of the way.
“It’s all right,” she murmured. “Slow down, Rosie. You’re getting carried away.”
The baby settled.
Daniel noticed that Elise had called the correct twin by name without checking the headband. Most people still confused them. His own brother had once written their names on his palms before visiting.
Elise straightened and began peeling off the gloves.
“You don’t have to pack,” Daniel said.
She stopped with one glove halfway down her fingers.
May you like
He disliked the weakness of the sentence as soon as he heard it. It sounded like a favor. It sounded as if the last two minutes had belonged to him and he had decided to be generous with them.
Elise pulled the glove free.
