After putting the baby down in her crib, she lay on her back, listening to Lulu’s occasional lip smacking. She gazed at the dark ceiling stretching away into a limitless expanse. The rhythms of this land were perplexing. Nothing was familiar, not even human relationships. What unfathomable pressures drove Lulu's mother to such desperation? Nola conjured an image of a teenage peasant, illiterate, starving, forced by her in-laws to give up a baby girl in favor of trying for a boy; maybe Lulu wasn’t even this woman’s first. I’ll take care of her for both of us. I promise.

Nola fell back to sleep, sinking to the bottom of the ocean, yet still aware of one open frequency, her newly assigned radio station, tuned to Lulu.

She was unprepared to hear Leslie's voice cutting through her sleep. “Rise and shine,” he intoned as he pulled open the shades. He set a glass of orange juice on her bedside table. “Workout time.”

“Please, God,” she groaned.

“An honest mistake, but it’s only me, Leslie.” His shirt was unbuttoned down to his navel, yet the starch kept it stiff and almost closed, allowing a calculated glimpse of the muscular chest of the former dancer.

Nola got her bearings. A tectonic shift had rearranged her life. Groggily, she dragged her legs off the bed and approached the crib. The scent hovering about it was the sweetest she had ever smelled. She inhaled once, twice, trying to capture the fragrance as she did a piece of inspiring music. Lulu lay still, her eyes riveted to the swaying of a colorful mobile.

When Nola appeared in her line of vision, a wide smile broadened her face. She grabbed the bars and tried to sit up. “Lulululululululu,” she said, and a quickening went through Nola.

“Lulululululululu to you,” Nola imitated, rolling her tongue.

“Practice your voice first,” Leslie told her.

“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha—ha—” she belted. In and out. In and out. She watched to see if Lulu became frightened by her loud voice, but Lulu just babbled back. Nola moved up the full range of her vocal cords, climbing over four octaves. “Do-re-me-fa-sol-la-ti-do. Do-ti-la-sol-fa-me-re-do—o—o—o—o.”

“O—o—o—o—o,” Lulu said. “O—o—o—o—o.” A smile snapped onto her face. It was so jubilant, it took all of Nola's self-control not to squeeze her.

Leslie wrapped Nola in her robe. “Aren’t babies a wonderful way to start people?”

“Certainly a wonderful way to start a day.”

A maid appeared in the doorway of the wardrobe room. Her felt-soled shoes made no sound as she stepped to the silver teacart, where she filled a bowl with yogurt and sprinkled granola on top.

“I can get my own cereal,” Nola said to Leslie. “Given a chance, you and Wade will top Celine Dion’s entourage of a hundred and twenty.”