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I whisper, “I’ll be right back. I want to go check on the babies and grab something to eat.”
“There’s a full kitchen off the nursery suite.”
Suite? I thought it was a bedroom, a big one. I just nod and tiptoe out. By the time I’m closing the door, Sean’s breathing is soft and even again. He’s exhausted.
I wander around in the dim light and realize that the ceiling is glowing dimly. Around the edges. There must be some soft lighting up there. I follow the white carpet to a staircase that’s shallow with multiple landings. This must be it. Constance wouldn’t make something like this unless it was to make it easier for the babies to navigate in a few years. Two steps then a large landing, then a forty-five-degree turn. It almost looked like short fat blocks, stacked on their sides. At the upper landing, there is a set of double doors that are carved and painted with scenes from children’s literature. A fairy is in front of my eyes with a young boy flying behind her. There’s a trail of fairy dust falling from the sprite, illuminating what’s below. Touches of gold paint are on toadstools, flowers, and fairy houses. There’s a puppy with lots of spots. An owl and a cat sitting in a boat on a gleaming pond. Willow trees line the side of the door, extending to the curve at the apex where there are two stars. The one on the right glows brighter. Next to the stars is a cow jumping over a crescent moon. There are so many stories told in this door that I could sit and look at it forever. Carved above the apex of the archway, into the wooden beam, are gold letters in a language I don’t recognize.
Saol fada agus breac-shláinte chugat.
His voice startles me. “It’s a blessing. An old Gaelic one.” Bryan is there in a pair of cotton lounge pants and a clingy white t-shirt.
“I thought you guys were 100%—”
Bryan smiles and laughs, but it’s not the carefree way he used to. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the wall, crossing his legs at the ankle. “No one is 100% anything if you go back far enough.”
“Don’t tell your Aunt. I think Constance will have a stroke.”
He jabs a thumb at the phrase. “True, but she wouldn’t ignore tradition. Not this one. That saying was on my cradle and then above my bed as a child.”
The slew of letters makes no sense to me at all. I can’t even imagine what it could say. “What does it mean?”
“It’s a blessing that says, ‘A long life and fair health.’”
Warmth spreads through me and causes the corners of my mouth to turn up into a soft smile. She craved a family blessing into the doorway for my babies. I glance away from the letters, wishing I knew more about the good traditions of this family. “All the Ferro babies had that on their cribs and cradles?”
He nods. “Yup. And I bet your wee ones do too.” Then he puts a finger to his lips again. “Don’t tell anyone the Ferro family secret.”
“That you’re Irish. Or that you want to be?” I laugh at the last part.
“Something like that.” He pushes off the wall and stands directly in front my so we are both facing the beautiful doors. “Have you been inside the nursery yet?”
“Not yet. I wanted to check on the babies, and get something to eat.”
“Well, you’re in the right place.” Bryan steps forward and pushes open the magical doors. Enough light enters the room that I’m rendered speechless.
The tower is the most beautiful, sweetest baby room I’ve ever seen in my life. The ceiling has golden calligraphy spiraling around a chandelier made from aged bronze. The light fixtures are fairy wings and flowers. All of which surround a tangle of tree branches, wildflowers, and pixies. Tiny crystals dangle from the fixture in some places, while others have blown glass that’s softly illuminated and casting a soft glow like a nightlight. There are matching fixtures around the room, smaller, and each different with a tiny nightlight. One is a crocodile with a clock on his tail. Another is a mermaid with seaweed and long hair. There are at least a dozen more scattered through the room. It makes the walls glow gold.
For a moment, I think there’s golden wallpaper, but I reach out and touch it and it’s smooth and cold.
“Is this…?”
“Gold. Yeah, your babies have gold walls.” He says it matter-of-factly. Like it’s normal. “It’s used throughout the suite. Aunt Connie used rose gold and white gold, but she liked the gender neutrality of the regular gold.”
Hand resting on the wall, I ask, “How did she put gold on walls?”
“It’s gold leaf. It comes in squares and artisans apply each piece by hand. That’s why there’s a subtle pattern. It looks breathtaking in daylight.” He stands behind me, hands in the pockets of his pajama pants.
I stare at him. It’s so good to have him here. To hear his voice again. Bryan left an impression on me. His legacy was laughter. The sounds of merriment followed him through every hall, all the time. His laughter was sincere and contagious. Even in hindsight, knowing the burden he bore, I do not doubt the authenticity of his boldness in being happy.
Glancing around the room, I reach for a soft stuffed rabbit with a sunbonnet. I adjust the bow under her neck as I ask him something I have no place asking. No place saying. I don’t want to gut him and slice open old wounds, but I need to now. “Where have you been? Hallie was so distraught after you died.” So was I.
He shakes his head once and tips it towards the other side of the room. There are twin cribs across from one another. I can see the babies sleeping, the slow rise and fall of their round tummies, through the swaddling.
“See that door?” He points to the one between the cribs. “Aunt Connie and your Mom are through there. The babies aren’t alone. And there are cameras in here, baby monitors, but a recording all the same. The kitchen, on the other hand, is packed with food and a comfortable place to talk. Finish looking around. I know you they’ve been bringing the babies to you for the past few days.”
I nod and take in the rest of the room, pausing the where-the-hell-were-you conversation. “It feels like weeks.”
Bryan settles against a wall again, taking up the same stance as before. Casual. Unhurried.
I could have wandered up here sooner, but the stairs and the episiotomy, well, sitting is painful. The thought of bounding up a flight of steps? I put it off. I’m glad I did. Seeing it at night, seeing the twins asleep, side by side in their little cribs, surrounded by the golden warm glow of the room just fills me with joy.
There’s so much to take in, but the next thing that captures my
attention is along the baseboards. There are baby animals elegantly painted along the lower part of one of the walls. They’re turning to face a little cozy nook nestled under a leaded glass window. It has a long narrow bench topped with a padded gold velvet cushion. Pink, blue, and gold-tone pillows are scattered against the backrest.
Books fill a white case next to the window, floor to ceiling, with the ones at the very top locked away behind glass. I wander over to see why. Amongst them are first editions of popular children’s books like Peter Rabbit, complete with original cloth cover chosen by the author. A book that had to cost Connie over thirty-grand for that one title. There are other books by Beatrix Potter and then a huge J.M. Barrie book.
Bryan is behind me. He whispers, “That is Peter Pan, fully illustrated by a famous artist named Arthur Rackham. His books are highly coveted. So are Barrie’s early editions. The tale of Peter Pan morphed over time. Our Peter, the literature lover, can ramble about it for hours. That book was probably around twenty thousand. It depends on which version it is.”
“Holy crap,” I mutter, shocked at the amount she spent on decorative books.
“The books shock you?” He laughs softly. “Avery, the walls are literally made of gold.” Bryan watches me take in the nursery. Every nook and cranny well thought out for an infant or a toddler. Even into early childhood, I could see them using this room. Jumping on beds or reading in the window.
Only one thing is missing. “No TV?”
Bryan gives me a look. “My aunt may be old, but she’s up to date on education and the use of electronics in making super-smart babies.” He hands me a remote.
“Will it wake them?” He shakes his head. “No, it’s silent.”
I press the only button on the remote. The walnut-stained wooden top of one of the half walls starts to move. It rises into in the air, with the carousel horse still atop. A large television emerges, and at its base is a cluster of smaller electronics like iPads in bust-proof boxes. The tiny ones, perfect for little hands.
