“That’s right, I did. There was a girl in our class who loved Shakespeare. She used to get this dreamy smile on her face any time I’d recite a sonnet.” Royal smiled.
“Oh, that’s right, Maisie Jean,” Baron said.
“Are you feeling better now?” Ink asked her, cupping her face between his hands. “Less stressed? I don’t like seeing you worried like this.”
“Yes, although now I’m wondering if I’ve got enough cups.” Betsy started counting the cups that were sitting in a pile next to the paper plates.
“Baby,” Ink said, cupping her chin and turning her to face him. “Everything will be fine. If we run out of paper plates andcups, we’ve got real cups and real plates in the cupboard. And if we need to, we can wash and reuse them.”
“They won’t have the right images on them, though. It’s a special year! Two hundred and fifty years! So I bought some plates that say that. I don’t want anyone to be disappointed if they get plain plates.”
Did she sound crazy? She thought that she might.
“No one will be disappointed,” Ink reassured her.
“I guess you’re right. I’m probably being a bit crazy, huh?”
“It’s just because you want to make sure everything is all good for everyone,” Zippy told her. “Like when I came to live with you. You tried so hard to make sure everything was perfect that you ran yourself into the ground. That’s what Baron and Royal told me. I think it’s nice. It just means a lot to you.”
They all turned to look at Zippy and Betsy felt her tears well up in her eyes.
“Yes,” she said in a choked voice. “I guess you’re right, Zippy. It is because I care so much. I just want everyone to have a good time at the barbecue.”
“And everyone will,” Ink said. “Because you make everyone feel welcome. They are all going to have a good time.”
Betsy nodded. Of course they would. She let the last of her tension fade.
“I can’t believe the Fox is coming today,” Zippy said.
They all turned to stare at the little girl.
“Remember, you can’t say anything about the Fox to anyone outside of the people coming today,” Ink reminded her.
“Dad, I’m not an idiot. I know the Fox is a big secret. I’m not going to say anything. The kids in my class wouldn’t understand anyway. They’re all too young.”
No one pointed out to Zippy that she was only seven.
Sometimes, Betsy thought that she was an old soul in a young body.
“You three finish cleaning up in here, then take all the plates and cups outside and make sure everything is set up,” Ink ordered. “I’m going to go help Betsy get ready.”
“I am ready, aren’t I?” Betsy asked as they all got moving and Ink picked her up in his arms.
He carried her toward the stairs, shifting her around so she was on his hip.
“I’m just going to help you relax a little. How about we spend some time in the playroom for a bit?”
“The playroom? I don’t have time for that, Ink. People are going to be here in an hour.”
“And there’s nothing left that you have to do except relax,” Ink told her.
“And I’m pretty sure that you’re not meant to sit and relax an hour before forty people turn up to your house.”
“Who says? We’re making our own rules. Everything is set up. The blankets and hay bales are out in the yard for people to sit on. The outside furniture is all clean. The barbecue is ready to go. We’ve got plenty of meat, and sides, and more coming. We’ve got dessert. We’ve got plates, we’ve got cups, we’ve got alcohol. What else could we possibly need to do?”
He carried her into her playroom, then set her down on the mat on the floor.
Instantly, she felt her Little side rising up. Her playroom always had this effect on her. It always relaxed her.
