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did.” Gran’s gaze stayed locked on the intricate gown, her eyes softened in remembrance of tiny feet, holy water and scented oils. “They were just babes. Why, in my day, boys actually wore little dresses until they walked.”
    “Please tell me you’re kidding.”
    “That’s how it was,” Gran protested, frowning. “They were babies.”
    “So, Gran.” Audra brought the booties to her face, inhaling deeply. “I love that smell,” she intoned, sounding like she really meant it. Cress hated the odor, a smell of old times and days gone by. Blech . “Cedar. Fresh wood. Amazing how it holds its scent.”
    Traitor.
    “I’ve got christening gown down,” she went on, looking up. “Who would you like to have this? It’s quite beautiful.”
    Gran snorted. “Whoever has the first grandchild, of course.”
    “And the race is on,” Kiera muttered, shifting. The chair creaked, even under her anorexically thin backside, but Gran didn’t hear either. Or ignored both. More likely.
    “Sooooo……” Audra paused, pen aloft. “I’ll write: ‘open for possibilities’.”
    “And we ca n always share it as need arises,” Cress piped up.
    Grandma looked at her hard. “That would require dating. In my day a girl let a man court her. Take her places. Try the waters.”
    “I think Cress has tried her share of water.”
    Cress shot Kiera a ‘strangle you later’ look.
    Gran shrugged. “There’s water and then there’s water. Them that swim with the weak fish never quite make it upstream.”
    How did an old lady who lived nearly two hours away know so much about her life?
    “Nice analogy.” Audra nodded, flashing Cress a grin. “I can just picture our Cress, heading to the spawning pool. She’d make a great trout, especially with that old gymnast’s arc.”
    “And you’d make a nice corpse. Shut up.”
    “Of course there’s always local offerings if you’ve used up the wealth of possibilities in the Twin Cities,” Kiera tossed in, her tart look perfect from every camera angle. Reason enough to smack her right there. “And Chippewa Falls has its very own man-brand. Brawny. Bold. Quite Midwestern. ”
    Note to self: buy untraceable poison and apply liberally to sisters’ iced tea. Cress angled a look her way. “And sample your leftovers? No thanks. Can we get off the subject of me and get back to work here? My leg’s getting cramped.”
    When all else fails, throw the sympathy card. Audra clucked, but Kiera just elevated both brows in a look that wasn’t even close to borderline sympathetic.
    Audra took the gown from Cress’s hands, set it on the bed, and returned to her seat. “Next.”
    A pint-sized hat and coat followed in brown, black and blue plaid, the hat done in aviator cap style, ear flaps and all. The look was all boy, to tal antique, yet timeless, something an English lad would don to scuff through stone streets on his way to some fancy prep academy. “How sweet.”
    Cress uttered the words too quick. Matters of reproduction were never lauded. Doing so opened a can of worms best left congealing. Gran had made her feelings on this clear for years: a houseful of unmarried thirtyish-somethings wasn’t in the plan.
    “For your first boy,” Gran decided, based on reaction time alone . She handed Cress the little coat. “Uncle Lars wore that when he was little. I can still see him in it, so sweet.”
    “Then shouldn’t Aunt Sylvie have it?”
    Gran’s expression soured. “Grandma gave it to me because she knew I’d take care of it. Sylvie don’t care for anything that isn’t brand new, fresh from the package and she’d have never used this for her boys. No, this stays here until you’ve need for it, Cress. Someday.”
    Audra and Kiera hadn’t said a word. Maybe that was how it worked. If you ooed and aahed first, you got the goods. Simple concept, except when the last thing she wanted to do was start thinking about biological clocks and passin g seasons. But the feel of the short