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In the early days after finding Antonia, I would try to coax her into a warm bubble bath to relax her. I have no idea if it made any difference, but I felt lost to help her and it made me feel better knowing I was doing something special for her.
Myla deserves this too. She’s always helping her mother and little brothers. I only wish I could find a way to get through to her. So, she’d feel relaxed enough to be able to speak to me.
With the bath ready to go, I stand and start to head back to the kids’ bathroom when I notice the bottles of moisturizer, makeup brushes, and a small bottle of perfume on Jillian’s countertop. Lifting the perfume to my nose, I inhale, surprised I’ve never noticed this scent on her before. It’s definitely not blueberry.
I slowly glance about her bedroom. There are pictures of her family and her children scattered around the space, similar to the first floor. But I’ve yet to find one of her husband. It seems odd.
I grab a towel out of the hallway linen closet before stepping into the bathroom with Myla and Truitt. “Okay, hand him over.You go to your mom’s bathroom so Caleb can take his bath in here. Okay?”
Myla looks startled by this, but scurries off as directed.
I head down the hall, carrying one damp, tired little guy as I search for his brother. Poking my head in Caleb’s room, I try to urge him to move along. “Remember, no playing hide and seek until your bath is done and you’re dressed for bed.”
Caleb races from his room to the bathroom, and I have to grab the back of his collar. “Where are your pajamas, Tarzan? You need clothes to put on after you’re done. Nobody wants to see you streaking through the house naked.”
He lets out a belly laugh and runs back into his room, returning with his hands wrapped around a night shirt.
“I’m going to get your brother to bed. Don’t even think about waiting until I’m gone to empty the water and pretend you were in there. I’ll know.”
Caleb’s eyes spring wide.
“I was five once too, you know.”
I find a baby book on the shelf by the rocking chair and start to read when the strangest thing happens. Truitt points at pictures in the book and babbles. Other than blowing raspberries, he rarely makes many sounds. Just smiles. But for all I know, he’s simply following Myla’s lead.
“Oh, yeah? Who’s that guy?” I ask, pointing to the picture of the dad in the book.
Truitt continues babbling like he’s carrying on a conversation in another language, and I follow along, pretending I have the first clue what he’s saying.
After the book is done, I return it to the shelf and rock him back and forth like I did after reading to Mimmo. It doesn’t take long before his lids look heavy, and he starts to drift off.
Once he’s down, I look about his room. There’s a picture of Jillian, Myla, Caleb, Truitt, and their grandmother with Santa onhis bookshelf. But otherwise, no other framed photos. But then again, he’s a baby. He doesn’t have much use for such things.
“Hey, are you done?” I ask Caleb, who’s sitting in the tub, foamy bath bubbles stacked under his nose and on his chin. He looks like he’s about to shave. “We don’t want to run out of time, do we?”
As if he’s gotten so caught up in bath time, he completely forgot about our deal. He flings his little body out of the bathtub and immediately reaches for his oversized sleep shirt.
“No, no, no. You have to dry off first, you maniac.” I grab the towel and begin drying him off in an overdramatic fashion. Once he’s done and dressed, I send him off to hide. “Don’t go in Truitt’s room. It’s off limits. I’ll give you a few minutes for a head start.”
Caleb flies from the bathroom before I can even finish my sentence.
Walking out into the hallway, I see Myla coming toward me. Her hair is up in a towel, and she’s carrying a stuffed toy of some sort. Before I can tell her to run and hide, she wraps her arms around me and squeezes. My heart practically stops. This sweet little butterfly.
“Farfalla, what was that for?” I ask.
She flashes her angelic smile at me, and I’m a goner for this girl.
“Your brother is off hiding. And you know he has no patience. You better go quick, or he’ll be hollering ‘what’s taking so long’ and waking Tartanuga.”
Myla nods and dashes down the hall.
After a few moments, I go in search of them and chuckle. Caleb is giggling so loud it leads me right to him. Then he is able to lead me to Myla because “It’s her favorite hiding place.”
“Okay, your turn,” Caleb yells.
“Shhh. Don’t wake your brother. You two go downstairs so I can find a place to hide without you looking. Go count to ten. Twice.” I laugh.
The two of them scamper down the stairs, and I decide to head to the third floor. Once up there, I can’t help but notice there are multiple family photos in this room. Many of them contain a man I’ve never met. He’s taller than Jillian, with light hair in a military style buzz cut. He’s smiling for the camera but doesn’t have the same rosy glow about him as the rest of the family members. In each picture, he seems two dimensional. Flat. As if taking the picture is a job requirement. Or maybe that’s just how military men always look.
