The door was opened by a large grizzly bear in a pink cardigan and a pearl necklace.
This was, under any circumstances, a surprising thing to find on a Tuesday afternoon. “Welcome,” said Yogianna, with great dignity, smoothing her cardigan with one enormous paw. “We have been expecting you. Please come in. Wipe your feet.” Ava wiped her feet.
Permafrostia had not moved.
“There is a bear,” Permafrostia said quietly, in the tone of someone carefully reporting a fact they hoped would be corrected.
“Yes,” said Ava.
“At the door.”
“Yes.”
“In a cardigan.”
“It’s a lovely cardigan,” said Ava, because it was.
Yogianna stepped aside and gestured graciously toward the hallway. The house was warm and smelled of something baking. It was, Ava noted with the eye of an architect, a beautifully structured home. Good bones. Excellent sight lines.
Someone had, however, installed a reinforced chandelier in the front room, which under the circumstances seemed very wise.
Ava stepped inside.
Permafrostia, with the slow careful movements of a woman who had survived seventeen international spy missions and was not going to be defeated by a Tuesday, followed.
That was when the door to the living room burst open.
Georgia had been waiting approximately forty five seconds longer than she was capable of waiting. She was wearing a leotard, a pink tutu and a bow, and she was absolutely, completely, overwhelmingly delighted that the nannies had arrived.
She flung herself at Ava with the full enthusiastic force of a young gorilla who does not yet understand the concept of an indoor voice, an indoor speed, or an indoor anything.
Ava went down.
“GEORGIA.” Yogianna’s voice rattled the windows.
Georgia sat on top of Ava, beaming.
“Hello,” said Ava, from the floor.
“She does this,” said Yogianna, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We are working on it.”
Behind them, there was a soft sound, like a very elegant tree falling in a very elegant forest.
Permafrostia had fainted.
She had done so with remarkable grace, one hand to her forehead, sliding gently down the doorframe in a manner that suggested she had perhaps practiced for exactly this eventuality. She came to rest in a dignified heap on the welcome mat, her sunglasses still perfectly in place.
Nobody moved for a moment.
Eugene, who had apparently descended from the chandelier at some point, toddled over and peered at Permafrostia with intense curiosity. He patted her hand twice. He looked up at Ava. He looked back at Permafrostia.
Then he toddled to the kitchen and returned, with great seriousness, carrying a single oatmeal cookie.
He placed it carefully on Permafrostia’s stomach and sat down to wait.