“Why do we need some lady charging us 300 shekels an hour to tell us what our organization does?”

Ayala picked a stray Cheerio off the floor and straightened the pillow on the couch. Then she wiped some remaining dinner crumbs off the dining room table and placed two notepads and pens on the empty tabletop.

She stepped back to survey the table. It needed a pretty serving dish in the middle. Was it too late to bake? Was it worth dirtying her just-cleaned kitchen?

Ayala wasn’t sure why she felt so self-conscious; it wasn’t as if this was the first time Dini was visiting. But there was something very significant about this get-together — was it overly dramatic to call it the first official Chesed Tzirel meeting — and she felt that such a milestone event demanded a touch of the ceremonious?

Ayala’s lips curled. Yes, she was making too big a deal out of this. But wasn’t she entitled?

Dini arrived just as she was taking a tray of brownies out of the oven.

“Mmm, smells heavenly!” Dini breathed, and Ayala grinned, giving herself a mental pat on the back. “And your house is so quiet! What’d you do with your kids?”

She’d bribed and begged them into bed, actually, with the help of the twins, who were now camping out in their room. But was there a need to mention that? Dini probably had a nanny to take care of such unpleasant tasks as bedtime.

Ayala frowned at herself. No, Dini didn’t. Ayala knew she didn’t.

“Oh, it’s amazing what the promise of a lollipop will do,” she said, and Dini laughed because, after all, she was normal, Ayala knew she was normal, and what in the world had gotten into her tonight?