Chapter 30
After the bath, sleep eluded her. So, wearing the most ragged cut-off denims Isobel could find - freshly created with scissors - and a snug T-shirt with no bra, she let her hair air dry as she sat in the front parlor - the one reserved for guests - feet up on the coffee table, leftover food spread out around her.
Isobel had decided this day of stress called for some sustenance. Chinese food for her - the lemon dipping sauce counted as a sweet dessert after the General Tso's chicken - and sausage links for Goshen.
He quite enjoyed those, and barely left any kind of mess on Mother's hand-woven cashmere rug.
A full tummy meant Gooshie's eyes drooped. Tired baby. She had just the thing for his weary head. A tasseled cushion, the needlepoint on it handmade and so precise. He appreciated the soft bed and slept soundly on it, only drooling slightly.