Malcolm calls, announcing the group’s arrival, and I ride the elevator down to the lobby and greet the mothers as if we’re long-lost friends. They smile with the tiniest tinge of disbelief in their eyes—anticipation of this most unordinary day I’ve promised them.
But I’m also breathing a sigh of relief. They’re here. They’ve made it.
Just as I did on my first day, the children are ogling Malcolm’s fancy coat. One of the boys reaches out to touch the shiny gold buttons at his wrist and Malcolm smiles and indulges them, instantly putting the children and mothers at ease.
They take in the lobby, the children’s mouths dropping open at the sight of a room unlike anything they’ve likely ever seen: plush carpet of crème and burgundy, a crystal chandelier bouncing light above their heads.
We move to the elevator. It will take two trips to transport all the mothers and children. One of the kids looks at the panel of buttons as I tell him number twelve, the top floor, and he squeals, “The penthouse!” The children giggle as the doors close and the elevator lifts.
The kids bump into one another with the kind of excitement children have when finding themselves somewhere new, somewhere fancy.
In the foyer, they stop and stare, but I don’t let them linger, only lead them down the hall to the dining room like the Pied Piper, handing out red lollipops as the children rip off the wrappers and jam the candy into their mouths.
They make loud exclamations when they see the carousel. “No way! Look at that!”
The children immediately want to run and play. Several of them scurry loose, breaking from their mothers’ grips and rushing forward.
“Soon,” I tell them. “We need to sit at the table first.”
Pauline appears. I ask her to direct the mothers to the parlor and tell them to relax while the children play; they’ll find petits fours served on china plates and hot cups of Darjeeling tea. Pauline leads the women away without a word. The children stay behind and seat themselves at the table.
Several of the children cast worried glances as the French doors close, but then they remember the lollipops in their hands and continue to chatter. Collette enters the room and grabs their attention. She smells divine and is fawning over them like their fairy godmother.
She’s wearing a brand-new dress with diamonds strapped around her neck. Enormous earrings dangle on either side of her chin. The children stare in wonder, their faces lighting up. And in return, she’s thrilled to see them. She points to the balloons, hands out candy, and tells them about the birthday cake.
The children’s chatter is mounting, then quieting, then rising again as they grow increasingly restless. They’re dying to climb on the carousel, and I can’t blame them. The ride is tantalizing, the bright flashing lights with carnival music beckoning to them. The children sit and stare while declaring which animal they’re going to ride first.
But Collette is starting to look anxious. She keeps whipping her head to the door as if she’s looking for someone—and I know who she’s looking for. She’s waiting for Patty. She’s told herself the child is still getting ready.