Maggie raced back around the bed, screaming with delight, and tried to climb up her father's back. Jack was in pursuit, growling and waving his arms.
"Everybody, just shut up!" snarled Peter, shaking them off. "All of you, shut up for one miserable moment! Moira, for God's sake, get them out of here^-I'm on the phone call of my life!"
Moira appeared finally, took Jack and Maggie gently but firmly by the hand, called softly to Nana, and ushered them all out into the hall. Granny Wendy stood waiting, her hands outstretched to gather the children in, her bright eyes looking past them to the bedroom and Peter.
"You know, " she said softly, "when your father was a little boy, we used to stand by the window and blow out the stars."
Jack snorted. "Uh-huh."
Peter was off the phone by the time Moira reentered the bedroom, sitting disconsolately on the bed, his eyes vacant and staring.
"The deal is on fire." He ran his hands through his mop of brown hair. "I never should have left."
Moira stood there, not speaking. After a moment he lifted his eyes to find hers. He saw anger and disappointment reflected there. She was swallowing hard to keep from crying. They stared at each other in silence. Then he rose, started toward her, thought better of it, and stopped. He gestured futilely with his hands, tried to speak and couldn't.
He shook his head. "Moira, I'm sorry, I just, I just can't…" The explanation he groped for wouldn't come. "1 lost perspective, I guess, I don't know why."
Moira's voice was low and soft, but her eyes were suddenly hard. "You haven't been to Kensington Gardens for ten years, even though Granny asks you to come every year. I mean, Peter, how many broken promises…" She trailed off, fighting to stay calm. "You promised the kids real time here, and you haven't looked at them once except to examine them or yell at them…"
The phone on the bed rang sharply, piercingly. Peter hesitated, then reached to pick it up.
"Give me that," his wife ordered.
Peter stared. "Come on, Moira, no."
"Just give me the phone, Peter."
"Please, Moira…"
Moira reached out and snatched the phone away. Striding deliberately to the open window, she tossed it through. Peter watched her in stunned silence.
Moira turned back again to face him. "I'm sorry about your deal."
"You hated the deal," mumbled Peter.
Moira nodded, brushing back her dark hair. "I hated the deal, but I'm sorry you feel so badly. Peter, your kids love you, they want to play with you. How long do you think that lasts? A lifetime? In three years Jack isn't even going to want you to come into his room. We have only a few special years with our children, when they're the ones who want us around. After that, you're going to be chasing them for a little attention. Listen to me, Peter. I'm home with them. I see them, I play with them. I know what you're missing, but I can't describe to you what that is because you have got to get down on the floor and play with them yourself in order to understand. Do you know how many times they say, 'Where's Daddy? When's Daddy coming home?' "
She took a deep breath. "Damn it, I'm just saying have fun, Peter! Enjoy them before it's too late!"
She tightened her lips and stared at him, waiting for his response. He stood there, staring back, unable to speak. Finally, she walked to the window and looked out, her face stricken, her eyes wet. She felt so sad for him.
"I didn't mean to throw your phone out the window," she said.
Peter's voice sounded hopeful. "You didn't?"
She turned back into the room, and their eyes met.
"Yes, I did," she whispered.
Nana pushed through the weather flap cut into the backdoor, the garbage bag held firmly in her mouth. The big sheepdog padded through the snow to the alley fence and dropped the bag into the can. She was coming back along the same path when she caught sight of Peter's holster phone. She stopped momentarily to sniff at it, then picked it up, carried it carefully to the flower garden, set it down momentarily, and began to dig. Snow and earth flew. In seconds, she had produced a sizable hole. She picked up the phone again and dropped it in.
Then she began to bury it.
The children's nursery was bathed in shadows. In the fireplace, the wood had burned itself down to red-hot coals that cast light the color of blood. Jack stood at the open windows, elbows resting on the balcony railing as he leaned out into the night, one hand fiddling with the dials and switches of his Walkman. The snow had stopped, and the air was crisp and clear. Jack wore his baseball nightshirt and had a bored look on his face.
"All children, except one, grow up."
Wendy's voice was low and compelling. She huddled with Maggie on the floor beneath a sheet that was serving as a tent, reading by flashlight from a ragged copy of Peter and Wendy. If Wendy remembered that she was dressed in her evening gown, she seemed not to care. Maggie listened intently, busily sewing ribbons along the hem of the sheet.
"You know where faeries come from, don't you, Margaret?" Wendy read. Then Maggie's voice joined in. "When the first baby laughed for the first time, the laugh broke into a thousand pieces and they all went skipping about-that was the beginning of faeries."
Wendy moved the beam of the flashlight to an illustration of the girl Wendy in her nightgown framed at the nursery window. "There," she whispered, "that was me, a long time ago."
Maggie looked at the drawing, then up at Wendy. "But Jack says you're not the really real Wendy."
Wendy snorted and pulled back the edges of the sheet. Together they peeked out at Jack, who pretended not to see.
A twinkle came into Wendy's eye. "And see where Jack is standing? That is the same window." She exchanged a meaningful look with Maggie. Neither saw Peter come through the door, resplendent in his tux, shuffling his speech notes nervously in his hands. "And this is the very room where we told stories about Peter Pan and Neverland and scary, old Captain Hook. Mr. Barrie, Sir James, our neighbor, took a fancy to the stories, so he wrote them down-dear me-over eighty years ago."
The rustle of Peter's notes caught their attention in the silence that followed. Maggie saw her dad and jumped up immediately. Grabbing the sheet off Wendy, she rushed over to present it.
"Daddy!" she cried. I made something for you. It's a para… a parachu… a hug! Next time you fly, you don't have to be scared!"
Peter patted Maggie's head, accepted the makeshift parachute, and carried it over and hung it on her bedpost. Returning, he reached down and helped Granny Wendy to her feet. Wendy smiled. She gave Maggie a hug, blew a kiss toward Jack, and walked over to turn on the night-lights.
As she was leaving she said softly, "Dear night-lights that protect my sleeping babes, burn clear and steadfast tonight and forever."
She paused momentarily at the door to look back, then disappeared into the hall.
For the first time Peter caught sight of Jack standing outside the bedroom windows. Striding over, he grabbed his son anxiously and drew him back inside. Pushing the windows shut behind, he slipped the latch in place.
In his haste, he had left his notes on the dresser near the window.
"Jack, what are you doing out there?" he asked. "Get away from there. We don't play near open windows. Do we have open windows at home?"
Jack pulled away. "No-our windows have bars on them."
He slouched his way over to the kiddie bed and threw himself down, clearly displeased. Reaching beneath his pillow, he pulled out his baseball glove. He slipped it on, thumped it, then groped under the pillow again. He frowned, lifted the pillow, and looked about.