Brigid meanwhile continued to twirl around the room, stopping periodically to touch various objects, including the bottle of gin and exclaim, “I hereby pronounce you a knight of the realm.”
Lilah looked at the woman who, on close inspection, was somewhat older than she. Whatever else the birth of a child had affected, it didn’t appear to have altered her twenty-two-inch waist, judging from the way her wide leather belt cinched the top of her pencil skirt. Normally, Lilah would have jumped to conclusions and immediately hated Noreen—her obvious self-indulgence, her unabashed display of wealth. Lilah had never seen a canary-yellow diamond before, and Noreen’s was hard to miss. And she should have hated her on principle because she was Mimi’s stepmother, and Mimi always hated her stepmothers.
But she couldn’t. Not when Noreen stuck out her hand and shook Lilah’s with the force of a longshoreman. The woman had spirit, life, enthusiasm, and clearly a seriously good manicurist.
“Sure, sure. I’m happy to talk about it,” Lilah answered, worried that she sounded less-than-professional after the G and T. “Why don’t we say sometime over the weekend? Right now I’m totally jet-lagged and a little worse for wear after letting Mimi ply me with alcohol.” She indicated her glass.
“Of course. That would be wonderful. You must be exhausted, and as to a drink—I could use a wee dram myself, as they would say in the Old Country.” Her eyes twinkled as she made fun of herself. “I deserve one anyway. Cook has tonight off so she could visit her sister in Moorestown—such a quaint place—and Conrad, as usual, is late in the City, so I took Brigid to Sustenance, the new fusion restaurant in town. All very organic and locavore. I’ve become fanatic about not allowing a single processed bit of food to pass her lips.”
Lilah nodded blankly and out of the corner of her eye saw Mimi push the gin in her direction.
Noreen glanced at the alcohol but shook her head. “I probably shouldn’t. I have yoga first thing in the morning, and I like to feel fresh even before I start.” She glanced over at her daughter who was counting the door pulls on the cupboards and smiled. “Now what was I talking about before? Oh, yes, so there we were in Sustenance, and I started remembering how I grew up on a solid diet of fish and chips, and somehow I managed to survive. That’s when I decided to let Brigid have a hot-fudge sundae.”
Lilah noticed Brigid’s tutu fan over her head as she did a series of somersaults across the kitchen. Ah, yes, signs of a sugar high. Then she glanced back to Noreen, who was nervously strumming her fingers on the granite. “I take it you shared?” she asked.
“Why, yes, how did you know?” She became aware of her strumming. “I’m not usually this much of a motormouth, either. I swear on my grandmother’s Bible.” Then she hooked her arm through her bag. “Brigid, dear, why don’t you give your sister, Mimi, a kiss good-night before we go upstairs for your bath and a bedtime story?”
Brigid closed her eyes and fluttered her arms.
“Brigid O’Reilley Lodge. There will be no bedtime story if you don’t stop that and come now.” Noreen’s voice was firm.
The little girl opened her eyes and inhaled loudly. Then she swiveled on the toe of her Mary Janes and tromped inelegantly to Mimi.
Mimi abandoned her drink and bent down, awkwardly offering her cheek.
Brigid gave her a loud smack, then twirled around to Lilah. “You, too,” she announced. She walked over and raised her chin.
Lilah knelt down, her Achilles tendon smarting despite the infusion of gin, and reached out and gave the six-year-old a hug and kiss. She smelled of ketchup, hazelnuts and baby powder.
Brigid seemed very pleased. She looked at her mother. “I want her to read to me,” she said, pointing with her wand. “You’re beautiful, you know.”
Lilah blinked, amazed at the self-possessed child. “No, I didn’t know. Thank you.”
“But your sneakers are dirty. You should get Mommy to buy you new ones.”
Noreen shook her head. “The scourge of living in an affluent community like Grantham, I’m afraid.”
Lilah laughed. “We should all have such problems.” She looked seriously at Brigid. “I don’t need new ones. I can just wash these.”
“Your next lesson will be how to use the washing machine,” Mimi cracked.
Lilah glanced over. Mimi would never admit it, but Lilah thought she looked jealous. “And I’m sure your big sister, Mimi, will be happy to show you.”
“A worthy idea.” Noreen pried her daughter from Lilah. “Lilah will read to you another night, maybe. Tonight she’s seeing her best friend, Mimi, who she hasn’t seen in a long time.”
“I don’t mind,” Lilah said, painfully standing up.
Noreen clasped Brigid’s small hand. “Don’t be silly. She gets a story every night, so there are plenty of opportunities another time. In fact, because of her fantastic teacher, she won’t go to bed without one. It’s just amazing—to have someone who’s a real proponent of the Reggio Emilia model of early childhood education.”
Lilah and Mimi nodded with a complete lack of comprehension.
“I’m sure my mother would be very intrigued. She’s an elementary school principal,” Lilah said.
“How interesting,” Noreen said and she actually appeared to mean it.
“Anyway, in addition to understanding the importance of play, they read the most wonderful books, lots of the old classics. And then they start doing other things because of the reading. Like building castles after hearing chapters from The Wizard of Oz.”
Brigid wrapped an arm around one of her mother’s legs, clinging to the tight black leggings. The effects of the sugar seemed to be wearing off.
“Naturally there’re those parents who are skeptical because they’re so used to the emphasis on testing even at such a young age. It’s so competitive out there now.” Noreen ruffled Brigid’s fine hair, removing the tiara that was already slipping over one ear. “But I believe that the Reggio Emilia system works better in the long run, producing natural readers and ones with fewer social problems. And even the critics can’t deny that the teacher is good at picking up any learning disability.”
She shook her daughter’s hand playfully. “C’mon, munchkin. Time for bed. It’s late for a school night. You want to be up bright and early for Mr. B tomorrow, don’t you?”
“The early bird catches the worm. But I don’t like worms. I want to catch butterflies.”
“Well, your bird can catch butterflies,” her mother announced and guided her to the door.
“Wait a minute. This Mr. B?” Lilah called out.
“Mr. B, Tweedle B. Tweedle B and Tweedle Bum,” Brigid recited bowing her head back and forth. She pulled on her mother’s arm.
“That’s right, dear.” Noreen didn’t bother to correct her.
“How many six-year-olds know Lewis Carroll?” Mimi asked.
Lilah was almost convinced she detected some sisterly pride.
“Oh, that’s par for the course in Mr. B’s class,” Noreen said over her shoulder. “I’ll catch you later this weekend, then.” She waved.
Lilah pushed away from the island. “Before you go. One question—Brigid’s teacher? Mr. B? His full name wouldn’t be…”