“Let’s pray.” With efficient motions, he stripped Ryan and placed him in the tub with his brothers. “I think I need help here. I’m on the second washcloth and the lotion is only half off. Can you scrub Ryan?”
“What about the baby?” Thomas cackled and reached up and shoved a handful of her hair in his mouth. He emitted sucking sounds of ecstasy. “Ah, gross,” she moaned, trying to disengage herself. “Can I put him down on the ground?”
“Yeah. Make sure there isn’t anything he can reach first.”
She gave a good scout to make sure there was nothing but a messy floor covered with bubbles from the splashing. She yanked two towels from the rack and spread them down, then placed Thomas in the middle. His fists clenched in her hair again and he howled, refusing to let go.
“Ouch, ouch. Michael, help me.” Firm hands carefully disentangled the baby’s fists from her aching scalp. The lower lip quivered. A howl echoed through the small space and her nerves screeched in agony. No wonder they said a baby’s cry could make a person crazy. She’d do anything to stop him. “Oh, God, he’s crying again. Give me the rubber ducky there.”
Quickly, Michael handed her the squishy toy and she stuck it in the baby’s hands. He shoved it in his mouth and gummed the toy madly. “Smart move,” Michael commented.
She grinned with pride, crawled over to the tub, and grabbed a washcloth. They worked in efficient silence until Maggie spotted the lovely olive skin beneath the clay and the water turned white. The boys chattered nonstop, alternating between Italian and English in a musical melody soothing to the ears.
“Uncle Michael, who is the bestest superhero? I think it’s Superman.”
Michael crinkled his brow as he pretended to think hard. “Superman’s pretty awesome because he can fly and bend steel. But I like Batman.”
Luke gasped. “Me, too! Batman beats up bad guys.”
“But he can’t fly,” Robert pointed out.
“Yes, he can,” Michael said. “He uses his equipment to fly like a bat. And he has cool gadgets and the best car in the world.”
Robert considered it while his brother practically oozed adoration. “I guess so. Aunt Maggie, who is your bestest?”
She slanted Michael a naughty look. “Thor.”
“Why?”
“I like his long, blond hair and hammer.”
Michael laughed and shook his head. “You’re hopeless. Such a girl.”
“Yeah, such a girl,” Robert mimicked.
“I don’t feel like a girl right now,” she muttered. Her pretty white peasant blouse stuck to her skin with sweat and steam. She used her elbow to push back sticky strands of hair, and she already knew her makeup had long ago slid off her face. No wonder mothers never wanted sex. Who’d crave an orgasm when a good night’s sleep was even better? “I’m a mess.”
She was about to laugh off her girly comment when his gaze snagged hers.
Coal-black eyes delved into hers and stripped past all the barriers. Energy hummed between them, ridiculous in the domestic setting, but burning real and bright. Her nerve endings tingled with awareness as she stared back, helpless to break the connection.
“I think you look beautiful,” he said softly.
Everything inside her shook hard and broke open.
Maggie surrendered. Lifted her hand to reach for his, to beg his forgiveness for her crappy behavior, to tell him every last secret and emotion locked up inside of her.
Suddenly, Robert reached down between his legs and grabbed his penis. Luke caught him and giggled, pointing at his own while his brother began hitting it back and forth, like a Ping-Pong game. “Pee-pee! Boys have pee-pees, and girls have Vaselines!”
Robert stopped and gave a long-suffering sigh. “Vaginas, Luke. Vaginas.”
The magic of the moment between Michael and Maggie blurred and disappeared. They both looked at the two boys, and Maggie fought back a blush. Maybe it was Fate stepping in. Or Earth Mother. Whoever it was, she grabbed on to the distraction.
“Yes, well, let’s not touch our private parts. Here’re the towels to dry off.”
She refused to be embarrassed by a couple of toddlers. For God’s sake, she handled grown-up male equipment on the set all the time without a stumble.
They ignored her. “Why don’t girls have pee-pees, Aunt Maggie?” asked Luke.
She looked to Michael for help but a bad-ass grin curved his lips. She refused to back off from the obvious challenge. She could talk honestly with children. No problem. “God made them different. And you’re right, Robert, girls have what we call vaginas.” She shot Michael a satisfied smirk. Take that.
“But without a pee-pee, girls have nothing to touch! What do you do?”
Silence descended. Michael mashed his fist against his mouth in an effort to still his mirth.
Ah, hell. She gave up and waved the frickin’ white flag. “Ask your uncle.”
With her last ounce of dignity, she grabbed the baby and stalked out.
Jerk.
Hours later, she sank to the floor next to the boys’ bunk bed and lay her head against the side. The soft sounds of little boys snoring drifted in the quiet air. They refused to go to sleep unless someone lay beside them, so Michael hurriedly took his exit and she was more than happy to delay any alone time between them. Her fingers still held Robert’s—the tiny hand relaxed and warm in hers. Maggie sat on the carpet and stared into the distance, remembering.
She’d had nightmares when she was little. The monster with blood in his teeth and wild eyes who sprang from her closet and wanted to eat her. Once, she’d run from the room to find her parents, but they weren’t in the bed. Nick wasn’t big enough to protect her and kill it, so she drifted downstairs and stopped in the middle of the stairway.
Her father was with another woman on the couch. The woman giggled and made low moans, and Maggie saw clothes on the floor. She tried to be quiet, but she was so scared she called out to her dad.
She remembered the look he gave her. Distant. Annoyed. Completely unconcerned. “Back to bed, Maggie.”
She gulped in terror. “But Daddy, there’s a monster in my closet and he’s gonna get me.”
The strange woman laughed, and her father looked even more disgusted. “I’m busy and you’re acting like a baby. Get upstairs now or I’ll spank you.”
“But—”
“Now!”
She scurried back upstairs to her huge room filled with toys and stuffed animals and emptiness. She crawled under the bed with her stuffed puppy and waited for the monster to get her. All night, as her sobs muffled into the plush carpet, she wondered why no one loved her. Wondered if anyone could ever love her.
Maggie squeezed the small hand. A bone-deep exhaustion and grief overtook her. She leaned her head against the mattress and breathed in Robert’s sweet scent, closing her eyes just for a moment. One moment.
Where was she?
Michael waited, but silence filled the house. He figured she’d be back in a few minutes, but it was way past that, and no voices sounded. He smothered a groan and got up from the couch. Porca vacca, what if the boys had done something horrible, like set a booby trap and she was stuck in there, unable to cry out? He was reminded of the Peter Pan story with the Lost Boys and held back a chuckle at the ridiculousness of the evening.
Maggie confirmed his belief she would not be the typical mother. He figured he’d be relieved. After all, she handled most of the scenes with unease and slight terror, though his nephews had been known to drive most babysitters out of town after an hour.
His temper reared from her constant quick quips, yet she managed to charm four boys who usually preferred strangers to remain outside their circle. Odd, they’d flocked to her almost as if they recognized a gentleness in her soul, completely hidden by her demeanor. Even the baby sucked madly at her knuckle and cried when Michael tried to pull him away.