By Barbara Delinsky
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He dropped his hand. ” Dana nearly laughed. “That’s ridiculous. ” Her jaw dropped. ” “No. And don’t knock that one, either. ” “Logical? ” She was appalled. ” Dana was livid. “Only people who don’t know us. People who do, know that we’re happily married. ” Dana was stunned. ” The baby whimpered in response. “Not me, Dee,” Hugh said, but his eyes remained dark. “Not me. I’m only playing devil’s advocate. ” “And you’ll tell them there isn’t a chance,” Dana stated. ” Dana was beside herself. ” Dana peered at the baby’s face.
There was a throw over one end of the crib, made by her grandmother and mirroring the meadow mural; a cashmere rabbit that Dana had knitted in every shade of orange; a bunting, two sweaters, numerous hats, and a stack of carriage blankets—and that didn’t count the winter wool bunting in progress, which was mounded in a wicker basket at the foot of her chair, or the sleepsack she held in her hand. They had definitely gone overboard. Rocking slowly, she smiled as she remembered what had been here eight months before.
They were store-bought, but everything else was homemade. Hugh thought she had packed too much, but how to choose between those tiny knitted caps and booties, all cotton for August and exquisitely done? They took up no space. Her baby deserved choices. Of course, her in-laws hadn’t been any wilder about these items than they had about the nursery décor. They had provided a layette from Neiman Marcus, and didn’t understand why the baby wouldn’t be wearing those things home. Dana let it pass. To explain would have offended them.