Quality Time?
“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” my husband asked as we pulled into our driveway. “A pleasant lunch without the twins, and no phone calls from the fire department telling us our house was burning down. I told you it would be okay.”
Okay for you, I thought to myself as I gave him what I hoped was a convincing smile. I swallowed hard trying once again to force the tuna melt into my digestive system. Images of kidnappings, accidental drownings, and knife accidents kept sending conflicting signals to my stomach. The twins, I hated to admit to my husband, were so much a part of me these days, a part of my soul. I didn’t want to be away from them, but I knew Liam and I needed to spend more time together, have those “dates” the counselor suggested. And yes, logically, Sarah was as responsible of a babysitter as we could find. “All Sally’s kids survived under her watch,” Liam joked. Like that was funny.
I tried not to appear too anxious to get out of the car, resisting the temptation to open my door before he even stopped. With some effort I willed my hand to stay in my lap until he came and opened the door for me. As I entered the house, expecting the twins to come squealing and toddling forth to greet us, the stillness hit me like a Taser. “Something’s wrong here; it’s too quiet,” I said.
Losing the battle against the tuna sandwich as my panic rose, I raced into the bathroom. My husband waited for me at the door, gave me that look, and then took my hand. He walked me into the playroom where the twins lay sleeping on Sarah’s lap, one on each knee.
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