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Hannah called later, begging me to babysit for Shaina that night. Her close friend was in town, and her older children had a party to attend. Well, a bit of pocket money never hurt.
She and Andrew lived in a small ranch-style house. The exterior was clean and well-kempt if unassuming, but the couple obsessed over keeping the interior up-to-date and beautifully furnished. They enjoyed entertaining family and friends as often as possible.
When I arrived, Hannah gave me some basic bedtime instructions for Shaina, and then she and Andrew hurried out. Shaina was happily occupying herself building a palace with Legos, and quite content to be playing by herself. I stepped behind her and sifted through the family library. Andrew was an avid reader, and, like Jonas, he preferred paper books to e-books. He also shared my uncle’s and grandfather’s deep interest in history. Medieval Europe ranked high on Andrew’s list, and I chuckled when I pulled out a set of books on Hungary. “Allen would love these,” I said aloud.
Shaina glanced up from her project. “Prince Andrew is in that one.” She pointed to a volume entitled, “Kingdom of Hungary 1301-1526”.
I smiled. “I think that's just a story, Shaina.”
“No. Daddy says there really was a Prince Andrew.” She bowed her head. “He says that maybe the rest of the story isn't real, though. Mommy said that sometimes stories are written about famous people, and over the years, things get changed.”
“That's very true. The Sad Little Peahen is a fairy tale.” I glanced at the clock. “Listen, it's time for bed.”
Shaina frowned. “Only if you read me The Sad Little Peahen.”
I rose. “Oh, come on, Shaina. I let you stay up late already. And you're old enough that you can read on your own.”
“Please? Mommy would,” she begged.
“Sorry, kid. It’s eight-thirty. Time to get to sleep.”
“Mommy would've,” she grumbled once more as I put her in bed and tucked her in.
***
ALMOST AN HOUR AFTER I'd put Shaina to sleep, she wandered into the TV room where I sat. Her face was pale.
“Someone's outside,” she whimpered.
I jumped up and made sure the outside door was locked. The idea that something bad would happen when I was babysitting always scared me. What if there was a crazy killer outside? How would I protect us? I pulled my phone from my pocket, poised to dial 911 if necessary. With my heart pounding, I proceeded to walk through every room of the house, scanning outside the windows and then closing any open blinds. Shaina tagged along behind me, emitting an occasional whimper.
Finally, finding nothing amiss, I calmed down enough to ask, “Shaina, everything seems fine. Why did you think someone's outside?”
“I could feel someone's eyes on me.”
“Where?”
“When I was sleeping in my bed.”
I let out a breath, feeling like an idiot. “Shaina,” I put my arm around her and guided her toward her bedroom. “You were dreaming. Go back to sleep.”
“But–”
My thoughts went back to the night I'd dreamed of the invisible creatures, and I shuddered involuntarily. “I've had that happen too. It's just a dream. It's scary, but it's not real.” Seeing the frightened young girl made me embarrassed at how I'd responded in the same situation. I really had overreacted.
I pointed at the window. “Your shade is closed, so you're fine there.” I even opened the closet door, hanging back a bit in case there was a murderer inside. Luckily, there wasn't.
“No one in the closet. So how could anyone look at you?”
She shrugged. “Guess you're right. I was having a dream.”
I coaxed her back into bed, and she fell quickly asleep. The reassuring sound of the garage opening met my ears minutes later, and I was very happy when Andrew drove me home.
***
IT WAS TWELVE-THIRTY that same night, and I tried to go to bed, but I was so excited for the next day's party that I couldn't sleep myself. My parents were downstairs, conversing quietly, and a delicious smell of cooking wafted in the air. I checked out my bedroom window to see if any exotic creatures were lurking in my yard, but there wasn't anything noteworthy except a large, pretty moth and an opossum slinking around the underbrush.
I crept downstairs and into the kitchen, immediately stepping back in awe. Steaming plates of food covered most of the counters. The kitchen table held snacks, cutlery, plates, and drinks, all precisely aligned and ready to be brought outside. Mom stood next to Dad by the oven. They were surprised to see me.
“You're making a habit of getting up in the middle of the night, Corinne,” Dad commented. He tried to sample a cookie but my mother swatted at him. “Your mother's been working hard,” he pointed out, gesturing at the myriad platters as if otherwise I might miss seeing them.
“Mom, how did you cook this all so fast?” I breathed. The counter nearest her boasted trays of meats, side dishes, and desserts that made my mouth water just viewing them.
Dad put his arm around Mom, who was now struggling to remove a large cake from the oven. “That's Patricia for you!” he beamed with pride.
“Oh, Julian,” my mother reddened at his words.
I stared at the food. It was everything I liked, all done to perfection.
My mom is amazing.