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The high drama of dinnertime quickly dissipated into the usual bedtime chaos.

“Patrick, if your patients ever saw you in my apron you’d likely lose half your practice!” Shelagh leaned against the doorway watching her husband and daughter make a mess of her clean kitchen.

“Then it’s a good thing we don’t let my patients have free range of the kitchen at bathtime, isn’t it?” His sing-song question made Angela screech in delight and sent a splash of water over the edge of the sink.

Shelagh reached in front of her husband and soaked up some of the soapy water with a towel. “Really, you two make more of a mess than anything else. You should let me just take care of  the bath, Patrick. Angela would already be in her nightdress, and there’d be no mess.”

Pouring water over the back of the baby’s head, Patrick responded, “No, thank you, Madam Efficiency. This is our time. You go sit and sew or sing or make Tim clean his room or something.”

Knowing Patrick wouldn’t put Angela to bed any more quickly than he bathed her, Shelagh left them to their own devices and went to check on Tim.

Sprawled on his bed reading the latest edition of TinTin, it was hard to believe her son was old enough to have classmates smoking in the lavatory.

“Homework’s packed away? Uniform ready for tomorrow?” she asked.

Tearing his eyes from the page before him, Timothy answered, “Yes. I think I need another jumper, though. That one has a spot on it from lunch.”

“I washed the other one today.” She walked over to the pile of folded clothes still sitting on his desk. “Perhaps it’s here?” Shelagh wondered archly.

Tim smiled sheepishly and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Mum? Thanks for helping tonight. Dad was really mad.”

“Yes, well, to tell you the truth, so was I. But I think you learned an important lesson today.” She placed the clean jumper with tomorrow’s uniform.

“Stay away from Gary,” Tim grimaced.

Shelagh kissed his cheek. “Among other things. Goodnight, dearest.”

“‘Night, Mum.”

Coming out of the bedroom, she met her husband and daughter.

“Clean as a whistle,” Patrick told her. “Now it’s time for a change, snuggle and bedtime. Coming?” he asked, leading the way into the nursery.

“No, you two continue your plotting. I’ll clear up your mess.” Picking up two little feet, she pressed her lips to them. “Good night, Angel Girl.”

A quarter of an hour later, Shelagh was finally finished for the night. The kitchen was clean and tidy, again, and Angela’s bottle was ready  for the two a.m. feeding Patrick was somehow always able to sleep through. Shelagh kicked off her slippers and settled on the sofa.

Tonight had not gone according to her plan. Patrick’s strong reaction to Tim’s story made Shelagh hesitate to open up the subject again. She wasn’t completely certain why her husband had reacted so fiercely. Certainly, Timothy was far too young to be getting into such trouble, but she doubted that Patrick had truly believed his son was smoking in school.

She felt the butterflies from earlier in the evening return. She couldn’t ignore Patrick’s cough, but she did not relish the idea of pushing through her husband’s defenses. He did like to be in control of things. Or at least appear to be in charge.

Patrick came into the room and headed to the mantel. Lighting himself a cigarette, he offered her one.

“No, thank you, dear.” Shelagh hadn’t had a cigarette in weeks. She wondered if he had noticed.

For a moment, he squinted at her in concentration, then his face relaxed, and he took a deep inhale of smoke. “She went down almost immediately. Something about her old dad that calms the little angel right down.”

“More likely he exhausts the poor babe.” Shelagh patted the couch. “Sit with me.”

Patrick gave a nod of his tilted head and moved the ashtray stand closer to the sofa. Shelagh made room for him and cuddled up close when he took his seat.

Sliding her hand around his arm, Shelagh caressed his palm with her thumb. She felt his body relax into hers and sighed. Quiet moments like this were rare lately, and she wished she could enjoy it. Patrick turned his head to hers and placed a kiss against her forehead. She hated to ruin the moment, but they had to make a start.

“Patrick?” Her voice was a bit hesitant. That won’t do, Shelagh, she told herself. Be strong.

“Hmm?” Patrick breathed deeply.

“Do you remember the Carter twins? That birth we attended together?”

With a chuckle, Patrick answered, “I’m not likely to forget that one, am I? Possibly the strangest birth I ever supervised. And,” he smiled at her, “it was pretty special for us, as well.”

“Yes.” Shelagh paused, letting the memories come back.

“You told me a secret for the first time,” Patrick reminisced. His hand tightened over hers. “I think that was when I knew it wasn’t just me. You were feeling something, too.”

Shelagh sighed, pressing her forehead into his shoulder. “I was terrified. I should have stayed with Trixie, to help with the settling in, but I wanted to be near you a bit longer. I told myself it was just friendly feeling, but I knew. I just wasn’t admitting it to myself.”

Patrick looked at the cigarette in his hand. “We shared our first, then.”

There it was. He gave her the opening she needed. Shelagh drew a shaky breath and agreed. “Yes. I felt so bold, then. I wondered what you must think of me: I had just confessed to stealing cigarettes from my father’s drawer, and there I was, smoking in a back alley with you!”

Patrick laughed. “My bold girl.” He stubbed out the remains of his cigarette, then lowered his head to hers, pressing a kiss to her mouth.

Stay strong, Shelagh, she whispered to herself. It would be easier to yield to his unspoken question, to postpone this discussion until later, but that didn’t feel right. It was one thing to try to smooth the way with a nice dinner, and quite another to use the bedroom to get her way.

Slowly, she pulled away. “Patrick?” she swallowed, then charged on. “Why would you say that?”

From the base of her neck, she heard Patrick’s muffled voice. “Say what?”

“Why would you call me a “bold girl” for that?” She pushed gently at his shoulders, bringing his eyes back to hers.

Confused, Patrick sat back. “What are you talking about?”

“In that alley, when I told you I had smoked my father’s cigarettes. I was only fourteen, Patrick.” Here goes, she thought. Jump in with both feet.

Patrick’s eyes shuttered. Shelagh took a shaky breath. “I was only fourteen, but you just called me a bold girl for it.”

“Shelagh-” Patrick’s voice had a warning. Still she pushed on.

“Timothy’s only eleven. You didn’t think it was ‘naughty’ when you believed he might have been smoking.” She held the shaky breath in her lungs.

Patrick brought his arm out from behind her and stared ahead at the electric fire. “It’s completely different, Shelagh. Timothy’s my son. You were…I see what you’re trying to do, Shelagh.”

“I’m not trying to do anything, Patrick. I just want to talk about this.”

Patrick got up and went to the mantel. This time when he started another cigarette, he did not offer her one. The silence grew as he inhaled deeply, his eyes squinting with the effort. After what seemed like hours, he started again.

“Timothy’s a boy. He knows how I -we-expect him to behave. Smoking in the lav, or even hanging around while Gary does, is not going to instill confidence in his judgement.” His voice was even, controlled. Shelagh had the feeling he had slipped behind his GP mask.

Shelagh grew uncomfortable with the strain. Trying to appease him, she asked, “So tonight, at the table, that was because he might have broken the rules? It wasn’t about the cigarette?”

He took another long inhale, gathering his thoughts. “If Tim wants to go to a top school, he’ll need to keep his nose clean. I’ve been telling him he should mind whom he spends time with; Gary’s headed for trouble.

“I’m tired. It’s been a long, day, Shelagh. I’m for a bath, then bed.”  He stepped over to her and pressed a quick kiss on her forehead, then was gone from the room.

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