Donna was the only one who wasn't surprised by the twins. "Always saw myself with two," she said, and it was true: she had the clearest image of herself chasing them at the park, tucking them into bed.
They were sleeping now, lying flushed and boneless as children do. Donna closed the book and stood up. She probably shouldn't be reading them Peter Pan — it was a stranger-danger nightmare — but she couldn't resist the light in River's eyes when the Darlings took to the air and flew. Will was named for his great-grandfather, but River had Wilf's wanderlust, and for that reason, Donna was happy to read about Neverland and pirates and flying away to magical places.
She kissed River and ruffled Will's hair, and slipped the book back onto the shelf. For a moment she heard a sound; a rising and falling that was familiar and delightful and something she had missed for so long. She frowned, chasing the word around her mind, but the sound faded before she could catch the name.
She looked out of the window, for what? Peter Pan, crowing at the window? Motherhood had melted her brain or something.
Still — and she'd die before she admitted it to anyone — she bent and whispered in River's ear, softly, so that she'd hear the words in her dreams, "Second to the right, darling, and straight on until morning."