The Delanos

Proserpina

I sat with baby Claude in my arms, crooning to him as he stirred restlessly. He was burning up with a fever and I had been holding him and carrying him around for an hour now. My back ached as I slowly rocked the antique rocking chair Lucien had got me as a gift.

It was midnight and I knew Lucien would be flying back in a few hours’ time. He had called me a while ago, assuming that the children would be heading to bed. It had become a practice with him and the twins; wherever he was, he would call to check on them, bid them goodnight and speak to them for a while. This evening, he had called a little earlier. He had been on his way to a party, a celebration for the wedding reception of some gangster daughter. It was in one of the southern states, he had said vaguely. I knew that he wanted me to know as little as possible about his work and whereabouts. Somewhere along the way, I had come to respect his need to keep things under wraps. It was, I had understood, safer for us.