She had Jennifer in one carrier, Lizzie in the other, and two diaper bags hanging from her shoulders.
“Margaret, could you keep them for a few hours?”
I didn’t hesitate.
“Of course.”
I assumed she needed rest.
Maybe she wanted to take a shower without hearing a baby cry.
Maybe she needed to sit somewhere quiet and grieve her husband without also having to warm bottles and change diapers.
I understood that.
I was grieving too.
Kayla bent over Jennifer and kissed the top of her head.
Then she tucked Lizzie’s blanket more securely around her.
“I won’t be long.”
Those were the last words she said to her daughters for twenty years
I didn’t know that then.
I watched her walk down my driveway and get into her car.
Then I closed the door and went back to the
babies.
Three hours passed.
Then five.
