On Sunday, all the pieces of furniture—dresser, miniature rocking chair, the bookshelf that stored diaper boxes, the old wobbly table used for changing—were painted metallic silver, and a gleaming, new chrome crib was bought at the outlet mall. When the nursery was set up, everything in its proper place, the crib was a silvery cage in the center of a small, square room that pulsed with enough boldness and energy to fill a house. The next day, Monday, all the Vorlobs overslept. Mr. Vorlob was late for work. And the children were late for school. “Probably because of all the paint fumes,” Aunt Irene joked. “We must have breathed them in.” Upon hearing that, Carla started gasping and swooning. She asked to stay home from school. “Nice try, but no dice,” Mrs. Vorlob said, rolling her eyes at Carla. “Don’t overdramatize. Your dad moved the alarm clock into the nursery while we painted. He forgot to move it back.” Because they were running late, there wasn’t time for Adine’s morning routine.
