As promised, there was a dark blue station wagon parked in the drive. I pulled in at the curb, got out, locked my car, and approached the house along a crushed granite walk. The surrounding landscape was drought-proofed; all gravel and concrete, scattered with assorted cacti and oversized succulents. I let myself in through a small iron gate and crossed the tile-paved courtyard. A mock Spanish fountain splashed water by way of a circulating pump.

I rang the bell. I could hear shrieks, barking dogs, and the clattering of small feet as a pack of short folk battled for the honor of playing butler to me. As the door opened, a girl of perhaps five turned to sock the four-year-old boy-child behind her. Within seconds, fists were nailing, the children red-faced and tearful as they struggled for possession of the knob between shoves and kicks with brown hard-soled shoes. Meanwhile, two hyperactive Jack Russell terriers leaped up and down as though spring-loaded. The toddler bringing up the rear got knocked on his diaper and set up a howl. Another girl, her back turned, was walking down the hallway toward the rear of the house, bellowing, "Mom!! Mooommy! Heather's socking Josh and the dogs just knocked Quentin on his bee-hind."

"Amanda, what did I tell you about whining? Josh can take care of himself. Now please mind your own business and quit tattling or you will drive me insane."

Sway-backed, Blanche lumbered into sight, the sphere of her belly so large it looked a rogue moon, held in orbit by unseen gravitational forces. Her maternity outfit was a pale gray washable silk, palazzo pants, a long tunic, with tricky buttons and flaps. I was guessing that when the babe came, she'd be able to plop a boob out and feed the little tyke on demand. She had long blond hair, the strands fine and glossy, reaching almost to her waist. Her porcelain complexion was tinted a pale peach. Blue eyes, high forehead, finely arched brows. She looked like a storyland princess from a book of Grimm's fairy tales – except, great with child.

She swooped down and gathered up the howling baby, whom she settled on her hip. She grabbed Heather by the arm, hauling her away from her brother and then giving her a push along the corridor. "You kids go out in the backyard. Amanda's going to make you some peanut butter crackers. You can have a snack out there. Just don't eat too many. We're having supper in a bit. Now scoot. I mean it. Everybody go on outside."

"Mo-om, it's dark."

"Well, turn the porch light on."

"But we want to watch cartoons!"

"Too bad. You do what I say. And no running," Blanche warned. Heather and Josh were already pounding down the hall, but they slowed to a power walk, knocking and bumping each other. The dogs followed, barking, while Amanda veered off into the kitchen to make peanut butter crackers without an audible complaint. Amanda, who couldn't have been much more than seven years old, was already being cast in the role of secondary mom.