She got up slowly, and went to wake Annabelle, who sometimes woke before they did, but this time she hadn't. She stretched sleepily when Alex kissed her awake, and Alex slipped into bed with her, and they giggled and talked until Annabelle was willing to get up. And then Alex took her to the bathroom and washed her face and brushed her hair, and her teeth, and then they went back to Annabelle's bedroom to pick up something for her to wear to nursery school. This morning's selection was a little outfit Sam had picked up on his last trip to Paris, it was denim with pink gingham trim, with pants, a little pink gingham shirt, and a matching jacket. It looked adorable on her with little pink high-top sneakers.
“Boy, you look cute today, Princess,” her father said admiringly, as Alex dropped her off in the kitchen for breakfast. Sam was already sitting there, shaved, showered, and dressed in a dark gray suit and a white shirt and navy Hermes tie, reading the Wall Street Journal, his bible.
“Thank you, Daddy.” He gave her cereal and milk, and put some toast on for her, while Alex went to shower and dress. They had the routine fairly well organized and were both flexible. When Alex had an early meeting, Sam did it all, and vice versa. This morning, they both had time, and Alex had already volunteered to take Annabelle to school. It was only a few blocks away, and she wanted to make up for the frenzy of the following week when she knew she couldn't.
Alex joined them in the kitchen forty-five minutes later, just in time to grab a cup of coffee and a piece of leftover toast. By then Sam was explaining the principles of electricity to Annabelle and why it was dangerous for her to stick a wet fork in the toaster.
“Right, Mommy?” Sam looked to her for reinforcement and she nodded and concurred as she glanced at the New York Times and saw that Congress had slapped the President on the wrist, and one of her least favorite superior court judges had just retired.
“At least I won't have to worry about him next week,” she said cryptically, with toast in her mouth, and Sam laughed at her. She had never been at her most coherent in the morning, though she made an enormous effort for their daughter.
“What are you up to today?” Sam asked her casually. He had a couple of important meetings with clients, and a lunch at “21” with the Englishman, which might shed a little more light on the situation.
“Nothing much. Friday's my short day,” she reminded him, but he knew. “I'm meeting with one of the associates to prepare for my trial next week. And then I've got a routine checkup at Anderson's, and then I'll pick Annabelle up and we're off to Miss Tilly's.” Annabelle's favorite day of the week was when she went to ballet school at Miss Tilly's. It was adorable, and Alex loved taking her, which was one of the reasons why she left her office early on Fridays, to be with her.
“Why Anderson? Something happening I should know about?” He looked concerned, but she didn't. Anderson was her gynecologist, and he was shepherding her through their attempts to have another baby.
“No big deal. I'm due for a Pap smear, no biggie. And I wanted to discuss the Serophene with him. It's a little hard to preserve my sanity, and my career, and still take the doses he's recommending. I was wondering if I should take less, or more, or what, or give it a rest for a while. I don't know. I'll let you know what he says.”
“Be sure to do that.” He smiled at her, touched that she was willing to go to such lengths to have his baby. “And good luck with the trial prep.”
“Good luck with Simon. I hope he either trips himself up, or makes you feel more confident about him.”
“So do I,” Sam said with a sigh, “that would certainly make life simpler. I just don't know what to make of him, or whether to trust my gut, or his pedigree, or my partners' instincts. Maybe I'm losing it, and I'm just getting paranoid in my old age.” He was turning fifty that year, and very impressed by it, but Alex did not think he was paranoid by any means, and he had always had brilliant instincts.