Three nights later, the one before school started up again, Penn had a full set for storytime. More and more lately, it was just Claude, Rigel, and Orion, but this night, everyone was anxious—anxiety being as contagious as anything Rosie saw in the emergency room—and when Penn opened the door to Claude’s room, he found five boys, ages five to thirteen, piled on the tiny single bed.
Since Grumwald had been joined by a night fairy princess named Stephanie, Claude and the twins had been making a persuasive case against the notion of bedtime as a calm, peaceful winding down before sleep. It was more like the floor of the House of Commons. Rigel and Orion only wanted to hear about Grumwald; Claude only wanted to hear about Princess Stephanie. Fortunately, they had decided to work together and help each other out. Not Claude and the twins. Grumwald and Stephanie.
“She couldn’t help him be a prince really,” Penn explained to his subdued brood. “There was nothing she could do to lessen all the ribbon cutting and baby kissing and peasant mediation that came with the job. She couldn’t ease the student government love triangle either—the secretary simply would not see reason. But Algebra II? Now that she could do something about. She didn’t have much of a head for numbers herself because she was magic, and magic people have no need for math, but she thought that trick—magic—might work for Grumwald too. She had quite the toolbox, but unfortunately, the only way to see what worked for any given problem was trial and error. He got a C minus on the quiz where he kissed the frog she gave him. He got a B minus on the test where he kept the eye of newt in his pocket, and that was better, but a B minus still wasn’t very princely in his father’s opinion. He couldn’t even answer half the problems on the homework assignment he did while rubbing a lamp Stephanie thought might be magic. Crying on the grave of a would-be fairy godmother she pointed him toward yielded a please see me on the imaginary numbers worksheet (Stephanie’s question was if they’re imaginary who really cares, but the answer to that, unfortunately, was Grum’s algebra teacher). In the end, what worked was what she should have known all along: magic wands are good for practically anything. Grumwald was delighted. He could rejoin Mathletes.
“He had a harder time helping her out though. He was asleep while she was doing stars. Without wings, he couldn’t reach anyway. In the end though what he could give her was better than magic wands and magic frogs and magic lamps. Better and more magical. What he gave her was moral support and unconditional love. He promised to be there for her always, even times when the sky proved too vast and the night was dark because she couldn’t kindle all the stars. He would light her way instead, he promised. He would be her Polaris, her celestial navigator, her astral guide. And whenever she came back to Earth, Grumwald promised, he would be there, waiting.”
Roo looked his father in the eye. “That was so cheesy, Dad.”
“See, this is why it’s better when it’s just a prince.” Orion rolled onto the floor. “Princesses are so corny.”
“It wasn’t Stephanie who got all emotional.” Claude stood up on the bed, hands on nightgowned hips. “That was Grumwald. Stephanie was cool with her gadgets like James Bond.”
“James Bond has nothing in common with Princess Stephanie,” said Rigel. “James Bond would never use a magic wand for algebra.”
“Algebra II,” said Penn.
But after everyone else left, Claude sat then scooted down the bed to hug Penn hard. “I got it, Daddy.”
“Got what?”
“You’ll always love me and support me no matter what. Even if it goes bad tomorrow, you’ll be waiting for me at home.”
“Not true,” said Penn. “I’ll be waiting for you on the playground at school.”
*
No one slept well, and breakfast was a sleepy affair. Rosie considered whether it would be good parenting or bad to pour coffee all around. Claude came down, a little pale maybe, in a brown denim skirt, brown tights, a pink sweater, and penny loafers. He had pink barrettes in his still very short hair. His wings stood gauzy, arched and defiant on his back, and he wouldn’t take them off even when it meant he had to eat breakfast standing up. He nibbled the crusts off a couple pieces of toast and handed the middles to Rigel. Rosie couldn’t admonish him to eat without eating something herself, and she couldn’t imagine doing so.