Page 11 of Luca

“Okay. Get some rest. Call me when you’re ready to go.”

The door shuts behind him, and my mind drifts back to Antonia. She’d been doing better. But since Mimmo’s started kindergarten, she gets him ready and then climbs back into bed, in essence, crawling back into her shell. Luigi’s offer is generous. I just have to make sure if I take him up on it, I can live with myself if anything bad happens to any of them.

Closing my eyes, I beckon sleep. This is a difficult task even in my own bed. Memories of finding Antonia, as well as visions of my mother’s lifeless body years before, are my constant nightly companion. Another reason not to let anyone into my bed.

It’s crowded enough.

CHAPTER FOUR

Jillian

“Bye.”I wave dramatically as Myla and Caleb climb the steps of the school bus. “Learn a lot.”

“Bye, Mama!” Caleb hollers back.

Tru wiggles in my arms, opening and closing his little hands as he tries to wave along with me.

“Okay, let’s get you changed so we can go to daycare. Mama has a few errands to run today.”Not to mention, a necklace to return before someone realizes I have it.

Walking back inside, I grab the coffee I poured earlier, but barely had a sip of, before climbing the stairs to the nursery. It’s so much easier to get one child ready than three. Placing my mug down on the dresser, I grab a cute outfit and get Truitt ready to go. “Why don’t you play in your bouncy seat while Mama gets ready?”

I place him in his bouncer and laugh as his legs catapult him like a human spring, then head to my room to get ready to start my day. After finding a cute pair of capri pants and a navy blue tank, I decide to go all out and put on some makeup. I’m notafraid to admit it. I’d prefer to arrive at Luke’s room looking more like a woman than a nurse.

Or a mom of three.

After donning a pair of wedges, a dangly silver bracelet, and putting a little product in my loose waves, I’m ready to go. I stop to take another look in the mirror and acknowledge I’ve probably lost my mind. I mean…what the heck am I doing?

Gathering up my toddler, who refuses to toddle, I take one more sip of now lukewarm coffee, head downstairs, grab my purse, and make our way to the car.

“You know, you could say Ma-ma any time now,” I coax. “Just because you don’t want to walk, doesn’t mean you can’t say Ma-ma.” I accentuate the two syllables.

In Tru style, he blows a raspberry, spraying spit everywhere and kicking his flying feet into my right boob as I finish buckling him into the car seat.

“I guess I had that coming,” I say, poking him in the belly.

Backing out of the drive, I wait as my next door neighbor walks by with his two humongous black and tan German Shepherds on leashes. Those dogs bark day and night when they’re out. But you’d never know it to look at them now. They give the impression they’re well-trained, mild-mannered canines out for a casual stroll instead of beasts who jump and bark at the slightest movement on the other side of the fence.

I wonder if German Shepherds are one owner pets. I had one of those when I graduated high school. A much smaller one owner brute. He was a Lhasa Poo, part Lhasa Apso and part Poodle. I think the only Poodle part came from his curly tail. Picture bleaching the green out of Oscar the Grouch onSesame Street, turning him into a light-colored mutt. That’d be him. That dog growled at anyone else who got near him. Of course, the difference was he weighed maybe twenty-five poundssoaking wet. Those teeth could probably do some damage, but nothing like the intimidating creatures next door.

But Cliff is an otherwise fine neighbor. He keeps to himself mostly. It’s just him and those hairy beasts. He seems to have control of them, but it goes without saying, my kids aren’t allowed anywhere near his yard. I’ve even spray painted a bright red line about two feet from the fence, so Caleb knows exactly where he needs to stop.

I continue to drive out of the neighborhood, watching as new mothers push their infants in strollers, seniors take brisk walks, and a few neighbors tackle their gardening before the heat gets oppressive.

Squeals erupt from the backseat, and I look in the rearview mirror to find Truitt with his arms in the air and his legs flying high as “Poker Face” by Lady Gaga comes on. A broad smile dances across my face, watching him give in to the rhythmic beat.

It baffles me how certain songs call to this tiny dancer. Elvis and Bruno Mars usually get the same response. Caleb will chime in and try to sing the words to Truitt when an upbeat tune he likes is on. And Myla, well, she’s my Swiftie. She may not be belting out the words, but I can see by the look on her face that she connects with the music. Who knows, maybe one day Taylor Swift will write a song so addictive Myla can’t help but sing along.

“We’re here,” I say in a sing-song voice as I park the car.

Truitt has never minded being dropped off at daycare. While Myla and Caleb both cried initially, I think Tru enjoys all of the ladies fussing over him.

“Aww, there’s my little man,” Bernadette coos as we walk to the counter for check-in. Reaching for him, she asks, “You ready to have some fun?”

Tru thrusts his little arms in her direction, and I try not to be offended by how easily I’ve been discarded. “What am I? Chopped liver, Truitt?”

“We’ll take good care of him.”

“I’ll probably be by early to get him since I’m off today. Just need to run some errands, and I’ll be back this afternoon.”

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