“Yes, I’m aware. Your point?” Helen asks over the phone, wedged as it was between her shoulder and her ear as she looked through the papers on her desk, Ashley asleep in the crook of her other arm. It had taken a while, but just enough susurrant noise and rocking motions had put her girl to sleep. Which was more than could be said about Jaxon, the head of house in the Adelaide Sanctuary. No amount of cajoling, reassuring comments would calm him. In the corner of her eye she sees Henry by the door.
“Henry, I– No Jaxon, the totodillo is staying with you. Transporting it now would be too dangerous.” Bouncing Ashley, giving up on the paper for now, she motioned for Henry to come in, smiling when he sat down. “I realise you’re allergic to the– yes… Yes.” Nodding, she smiled at Henry, who held up a piece of artwork. “That’s wonderful, Henry,” she tells him, the phone’s microphone away from her mouth. “No, I was speaking to Henry. Yes… Yes… Seven next January. Yes.” More nodding, her heart slowly breaking as Henry bounces less, the poor child bored waiting for her.
“Ok, Magnus, the totodillo stays.”
Grinning, Helen said her goodbyes to Jaxon, hung up the phone, and turned to Henry. “What shall we do now?” The ache in her chest diminished in the warmth of her young boy’s answering smile. Maybe she can keep doing this working mother thing, after all.