“Then check with Casey,” Emma snapped, trying to deal with Yoda and keep an eye on Abby at the same time. One was a friggin’ dictator, the other was the Roadrunner.
“I most definitely shall, immediately. And tell that small person to stop touching the equipment.”
“I’ll try, Yoda.” Emma couldn’t wait for him to summon Casey. She was at her wit’s end.
Meanwhile, Abby had already gotten bored with the conversation. She was now swiveling around and around in Casey’s chair, leaving more chocolate stains on the leather and on the polished wood table.
“Whee! This is fun! A big chair like Daddy’s!” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, leaving splotches of chocolate in both places.
“What are these?” Abby reached for the pile of papers stacked neatly in front of her. “Can I color?” She turned the first page over, picked up a pen and began scribbling. “Do you have crayons? This color is ugly.”
“Please, Abby, don’t do that,” she repeated.
“’Kay.” Abby climbed onto the table, stood up and slid her feet around on the polished surface. “Look! I’m a ice skater in the ’lympics!”
“Come down, Abby. You’re going to hurt yourself.” Emma lunged for her, catching her around the waist.
Abby yelped in protest.
“Warning. Stack overflow error. Kernel panic imminent,” Yoda announced. “Shut down sequence initiated. Restart in ten seconds. Goodbye.”
Panicked, Emma pressed Marc’s intercom button.
“Problem, Emma?” he asked drily, having answered on the first ring.
“Marc, do something!” she pleaded. “She’s going to kill us both!”
He chuckled. “Where are you?”
“In what’s left of the conference room.”
Three minutes later, Marc strode into the disaster of a conference room.
He was greeted by the sight of a panic-stricken Emma standing on the conference table, clutching his chocolate-covered, desk-skating niece. Glancing around the ravaged room and taking in the total picture, Marc had to stifle his laughter.
“What’s going on here?” he asked, keeping his voice stern.
“Uncle Marc!” Abby promptly broke away from Emma and jumped off the table.
Emma cried out in alarm.
Long before Abby hit the floor, Marc caught her in one arm. His other arm was filled with art supplies.
Completely unshaken by her near-collision with the floor, Abby gave Emma a puzzled look. “Why is Imma yelling, Uncle Marc? Is she hurt?”
“No, I’m fine, sweetheart.” Emma was shaking as she got down from the table. “I was a little afraid on the ice without you.”
“Oh.” Abby nodded sagely. “It’s ’kay. Daddy says if you do sumpthing a lot, you get good at it. You need to—” Abby searched for the right word “—pwactice. I’ll help you.” Her little face lit up with a smile.
This time Marc chuckled aloud. “I think you scared Emma. Let’s let her go get a snack and lie down for a nap.”
Another sage nod. “She didn’t even finish one cupcake,” Abby reported. “She’s pwobably hungry.”
“I’m probably dying,” Emma muttered as she headed for the door. “I’m not having kids till I’m forty.”
“What’s that, Uncle Marc?” Emma heard Abby say as she left the room.
“That, my little tyrant, is a whole bunch of paper and three markers. Claire went out to get you a big box of crayons with lots of colors.”