and then you can run around.” The way they were dashing back and forth, it was difficult to see who was who.
Zara skidded to a stop and dutifully opened her mouth. Carefully measuring out the liquid, K.O. filled the spoon and popped it into the child’s mouth. Immediately afterward, the twins took off in a frenzied race around the kitchen table.
“Zoe,” K.O. said, holding the second bottle and a clean spoon and waiting for the mayhem to die down so she could dispense the correct dose to her other niece. “Your turn.”
The twin appeared in front of her, mouth open. K.O. poured medicine onto the spoon. About to give it to Zoe, she hesitated. “You’re not Zoe. You’re Zara.”
“I’m Zoe,” she insisted. Although the girls were identical, K.O. could usually tell one from the other, partly by their personalities. Zara had the stronger, more dominant nature. “Are you sure?” she asked.
The little girl nodded vigorously. Uncertain, K.O. reluctantly gave her the medication. The twins continued to chase each other about the kitchen, weaving their way around and between Wynn and K.O. The dogs dashed after them, yapping madly.
Wynn asked, “Is everything all right?”
K.O. still held the empty spoon. “I have a horrible feeling I just gave two doses to the same girl.”
“You can trust the twins to tell you the truth,” Wynn pronounced. “Children instinctively know when it’s important to tell the truth.”
“Really?” K.O. couldn’t help worrying.
“Of course. It’s in the book,” Wynn said as if quoting Scripture.
“You didn’t feed Blackie and Brownie,” Zara cried when K.O. tossed the leftover pancakes in the garbage.
“Then we must.” Wynn proceeded to remove the cold pancakes and tear them into small pieces. Zero and Zorro leaped off the ground in an effort to snatch up the leftovers. Zoe and Zara sat on the floor and fed the dogs and supposedly their imaginary pets, as well.
The yapping dogs were giving K.O. a headache. “How about if I turn on the television,” she suggested, shouting to be heard above the racket made by the girls and the dogs.
The twins hollered their approval, but the show that flashed onto the screen was a Christmas cartoon featuring none other than Santa himself. Jolly old soul that he was, Santa laughed and loaded his sleigh while the girls watched with rapt attention. Knowing how her sister felt, K.O. figured this was probably the first time they’d seen Santa all season. K.O. glanced at Wynn, who was frowning back.
“Let’s see what else is on,” K.O. said quickly.
“I want to watch Santa,” Zoe shouted.
“Me, too,” Zara muttered.
Wynn sat on the sofa between them and wrapped his arms around their small shoulders. “This show is about a character called Santa Claus,” he said in a solicitous voice.
Both girls were far too involved in the program to be easily distracted by adult conversation.
“Sometimes mommies and daddies like to make believe, and while they don’t mean to lie, they can mislead their children,” he went on.
Zoe briefly tore her gaze away from the television screen. “Like Santa, you mean?”
Wynn smiled. “Like Santa,” he agreed.
“We know he’s not real,” Zoe informed them with all the wisdom of a five-year-old.
“Santa is really Mommy and Daddy,” Zara explained. “Everyone knows that.”
“They do?”
Both girls nodded.
Zoe’s eyes turned serious. “We heard Mommy and Daddy fighting about Santa and we almost told them it doesn’t matter ’cause we already know.”
“We like getting gifts from him, though,” Zara told them.
“Yeah, I like Santa,” Zoe added.
“But he’s not real,” Wynn said, sounding perfectly logical.
“Mommy’s real,” Zara argued. “And Daddy, too.”
“Yes, but...” Wynn seemed determined to argue further, but stopped when he happened to glance at K.O. He held her gaze a moment before looking away.
K.O. did her best to keep quiet, but apparently Wynn realized how difficult that was, because he clammed up fast enough.
The next time she looked at the twins, Zara had slumped over to one side, eyes drooping. K.O. gently shook the little girl’s shoulders but Zara didn’t respond. Still fearing she might have given one twin a double dose of the antibiotic, she knelt down in front of the other child.
“Zoe,” she asked, struggling to keep the panic out of her voice. “Did you get your medicine or did Zara swallow both doses?”
Zoe grinned and pantomimed zipping her mouth closed.
“Zoe,” K.O. said again. “This is important. We can’t play games when medicine is involved.” So much for Wynn’s theory that children instinctively knew when it was necessary to tell the truth.