I was afraid I'd begin to gibber if I tried to explain the delay to him, so I waved my free hand at him in a ghoulish attempt at cheerfulness.
"Let's wash Donna's lip," I suggested, when we were in the bathroom. Donna sent up an immediate howl of protest, and I applied psychology--although I was tempted to apply something less abstract and more painful.
"Oh, yes," I crooned, "we must wash Donna's lip, and her hands, and her feet."
"Wash Donna's feet?" she repeated, her round blue eyes interested behind their veil of untidy wisps of brown hair.
I nodded, looking more closely at her lip. I decided the cut wasn't very serious. It had bled a lot, but it wasn't bleeding now. I'd wait on the impatient young man and get him out of the way before I took the time to wash her lip.
I left Donna in the bathroom and hurried back to confront the quivering mustache.
The prim, thin-lipped mouth beneath the mustache was opening to speak, when David hurtled into the office and clutched my dress.
"Mama!" he yelled. "She's having another baby!"
"Twins?" I shrieked. "Oh, dear, what'll we do?"
The mustache was twitching with shock now. "You'd better rent a cabin somewhere else," I said. "I'm--" I paused. What was that splashing noise?