Chapter 496 It Is A Lazy Answer
Gail’s POV
“She is beautiful,” I murmured.
“She is a Windsor,” Celeste replied proudly. “They all are.”
“Even the ones who scream?”
“Especially the ones who scream. It is the quiet ones you have to worry about.”
Aiden climbed into the chair beside us and leaned against Celeste’s side. Without even looking at him, she wrapped one arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer.
“Tell me about school,” she said.
“It is fine.”
“Fine is not an answer.”
“It is an answer.”
“It is a lazy answer.”
Aiden sighed dramatically. “The teacher says I talk too much.”
“You do,” Celeste agreed.
“I know.”
“But you are smart, so she lets you.”
“She does not let me,” he corrected her. “She just does not stop me.”
Celeste laughed again. I looked at the two of them—the old woman and the little boy—and felt something settle warmly inside my chest. This was what the house was supposed to feel like. Not the tension. Not the secrets. Not armed men standing at the gates. Just this. Family. Warmth. The ordinary miracle of people who loved one another sitting beneath a tree on a Tuesday afternoon.
Clara made a small sound against my chest. It was not one of her usual screams. It was a soft little coo. She stared up at me with those dark Windsor eyes, and for a moment, she looked almost wise, as though she knew something about the world that I did not.
“She likes you,” Aiden said.
“She likes everyone who holds her.”
“No,” he insisted. “She likes you specifically. She does not coo at everyone.”
I looked down at Clara. As though she wanted to prove his point, she cooed again.
“See?” he said triumphantly.
“I see.”
Celeste was watching us with that smile again. The one that always made me suspicious because it usually meant she knew something the rest of us did not.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“Grandma.”
“I am just thinking.”
“About what?”
“About how much this family has been through,” she said. “And how nice it is to finally see everything settling down.”
“It is not settled. There is still—”
“I know what there is still,” she interrupted. “I have been in this family longer than you have been alive. I know exactly what there is still.” She turned her head and looked directly at me. “But right now, in this moment, everything is settled. Enjoy it.”
I did. I held Clara and watched Aiden chase a butterfly across the lawn while Celeste hummed an old song I did not recognize. The sun slowly moved across the sky, the shadows grew longer across the garden, and the afternoon air became cooler around us.
That evening, we had dinner together in the kitchen. Celeste made pasta, and Aiden somehow managed to eat three helpings. Clara sat nearby in her infant seat until she became bored and started complaining loudly enough that Celeste finally told me to pick her up. The moment I settled her onto my lap, she stopped fussing and grabbed at anything within reach.
“She is learning,” Celeste said.
“She is learning that if she makes enough noise, someone will eventually pick her up.”
“She is learning that she can get what she wants by making noise. That is a useful skill.”
“That is a dangerous skill.”
“All the best skills are dangerous.”
After dinner, Aiden fell asleep on the couch with his dinosaur book still open across his chest. Celeste gently removed the book and covered him with a blanket. I carried Clara upstairs to the nursery and carefully lowered her into her crib. Her eyes opened almost immediately, and she started to fuss.
“She does not want to be put down,” I whispered.
“She never does,” Celeste replied from behind me.
I picked Clara up again. She immediately settled against me, her small body warm and surprisingly heavy in my arms. I sat down in the rocking chair and rocked her slowly until her eyes finally closed. Her breathing became deeper and steadier, and her tiny fist gradually uncurled.
I looked down at her in the dim light of the nursery. Four months old. A whole person already. She had her father’s dark eyes, her mother’s stubbornness, and a set of lungs powerful enough to wake the entire estate.
“You are going to be trouble,” I whispered.
She did not wake. She simply continued breathing peacefully against me.
Downstairs, Celeste was in the kitchen washing the last of the dishes. I could hear her humming from upstairs. The rest of the house was quiet except for the distant sound of running water and the occasional creak of old wood settling around us.
I remained in the rocking chair with Clara in my arms and simply allowed the evening to happen around me. No phones. No meetings. No security problems demanding our attention. Just the house, our family, and the baby who absolutely refused to be put down.
Celeste came upstairs sometime later and found me still sitting in exactly the same place.
“You should put her down,” she whispered.
“She will scream.”
“She will,” Celeste agreed. “Then eventually she will stop. They always do.”
“I do not want to hear it.”
“You will hear it anyway. You might as well get it over with.”
I looked down at Clara. Her little face was completely peaceful now, and her breathing was soft and even. She looked like she was dreaming about something.
“One more minute,” I whispered.
Celeste smiled. “One more minute,” she agreed.
We sat there together in the darkness, the old woman and me, holding the baby who refused to be put down while we listened to the house breathe quietly around us.
Outside, the stars were beginning to appear above the estate. Inside, everything was still. Everything was quiet. Everything was, for once, exactly where it was supposed to be.
I did not know it yet, but the quiet was not going to last.